The Real Life Love
by KatyLynne
Summary: Jason Todd has a secret; he's in love. And he's not the only one. Basically, a collection of oneshots following Jason and Dick's life together. All the fluff you can handle.
1. So it begins

**The Real Life Love**

 _Jason's P.O.V_

When I think of a love-hate relationship, I think of many things. Pretty much all of my relationships are love-hate relationships. How sad is that? I think of Gotham, my home that is also my prison. There is not much I want more than to escape her clutches, yet I can just never bring myself to leave. I think of Bruce Wayne, the Batman, my _father,_ and while I want to send a bullet between his eyes, to see his brains splattered on the wall, I can never pull the trigger. It would be so _easy._ Pulling triggers is easy for me, now. But as angry, as hurt and betrayed, as I feel because of him, he is still my father. At least, more than Willis Todd ever was.

I love-hate my job. And no, I'm not talking about temping at the cheap diner down the road (not that I have ever done that). It's my _purpose,_ that I love-hate. Since coming back from the dead, at first not much more than a zombie - sans the brain eating and rotting flesh - before taking a little dip in a Lazarus Pit to regain what's left of my mind, I've made it my purpose to clean up Gotham. And not the Throw-The-Villains-Back-Into-Arkham-That'll-Teach-Them band aid that the bats keep insisting works. I'm talking permanently. With guns and bullets and killing. Lots of it. And while I'll admit, I do get an immense amount of satisfaction from my job, there are days that I wish I could be normal. That I could put away my guns and take up that temp job at that shitty diner. Because contrary to the popular belief held by my so-called family, I don't enjoy killing. The satisfaction doesn't come from ending someone's life; it comes from knowing that even though I blacken my own soul, at least that evil someone can never hurt anybody else again.

Now my two younger brothers, I both love and hate. Replacement and Demon Spawn (I've always been good at nicknames) are annoying as all hell. Trust me, I've been there. But even when they're trying their damnedest to rearrange my face, I can't help but feel a little proud of them. I mean, they have to put up with Bruce on the regular and they haven't shot themselves in the head yet. That's something to be proud of. Even Alfred, I can love-hate at times; I know he means well, but if he could _stop_ sneaking into my safe houses to do my laundry and take away my expensive, imported beer, I'd appreciate it. I have been on better terms with the bat family recently. At least, I haven't tried any attempts on their lives for a very long time. I quite enjoy chatting to my brothers, occasionally. As long as they don't mess up whatever case I'm working at the time, interactions between us have been rather _good._

There are a few exceptions to my love-hate rule that I can think of. One, I just straight up hate bad alcohol. If there's one habit that I've picked up from dear old Brucie (though people tell me there are a few), it's my insistence on decent liquor. I died when I was fifteen, but I was a street rat for most of my childhood. Of course I sneaked some of Bruce's brandy. As a side-effect, I developed a taste for the finer things in life. No watered down horse piss for _this_ street rat, thank you very much.

Two, I hate people that take advantage of the helpless. Hence, my cleaning of the slums of Gotham. There are plenty of low-lives using others for their own sick gain in need of my personal form of justice. Also, my firm rule of no dealing to children. There's no faster way to get on my shit-list than abusing and using defenceless children.

The third is pretty obvious, to anyone who knows of my tragic story. There's nothing, _nothing_ on this earth that I loathe more than the Joker. The way I see it, he is in no way deserving of oxygen, let alone any other essentials of life. Him, him I would gladly kill.

This last one, well, it's complicated. For once, this exception is something that I can never bring myself to hate. This is the only exception to the love-hate rule of mine that isn't about hate. It's about, dare I say it, love. It hurts to admit it, but I'm in love. Don't laugh too hard. Believe me, it surprises me more than it does you. It started out as a crush; the star-struck puppy love of an adolescent. But it never left me, even following my death. It grew, as I saw how he's grown into his own, how even stronger, even more confident he's become. As I saw the pain in his eyes as he saw the mess _I'd_ become. Poor me, with my unrequited love for none other Richard Grayson, the first Robin and the vigilante known as Nightwing. The one that others call my brother. Of course, I've never seen him as my brother; people don't fall in love with their brothers unless they have a few screws loose. And we're not actually related. Not even legally related, seeing as I'm legally dead. That doesn't make it hurt any less.

It's also extremely hard to get over, and trust me, I'm trying to get over it. But it's difficult to convince myself that he'll never love me when he's the only one of the bat family that still seeks me out to do nothing but spend time with me. When he smiles _that_ smile. When he doesn't treat me like nothing more than a criminal and that he wishes I never returned from the grave. It would be easier if he did treat me that way. I could get over him if he did. Maybe.

"Hey, Little Wing."

Yet, here he is, even now, tormenting me with another thing that I want but will never have.

Swallowing my sigh, I lower my binoculars. I was staking out a supposedly abandoned warehouse, but I had suspicions that Black Mask was using it as storage for his new drug supply. Not turning to face Nightwing, I barely audibly grumble "what the fuck is it, Goldie?"

"Do I really need an excuse to see my little brother?" He replies, that ever-present laughter bright in his voice. There's that word again. _Brother._ Internally, I'm cringing. But Bats trained me better than to show any visible sign of my discomfit.

"If I were the Replacement or the Demon Spawn, probably not. Remember, Goldie, I'm the black sheep. Your keeper won't like you talking to me." I don't need to see him to know that his smile has fallen from his face. He still just has to surprise me, however, and he lays a hand on my shoulder. The heat sinks through the Kevlar and leather of my uniform, making me have to forcibly hold back my shudder.

"We just want you home, Jaybird."

Here we go again, the same broken record.

"But I have to change, first, right? Have to go back, be the fifteen year old boy again, yeah? Well, Dickie, that boy's dead. He died. You're stuck with _me._ And I'm not him, Dick. I'm not your 'Jaybird,' I'm not your 'Little Wing.' The family doesn't want _me_ back. _You_ don't want me back."

Okay, so maybe not the exact same record. I'd usually say something as cutting, true, but with a lot more swearing. And a lot more crazy. Because it makes it easier for them to just ignore me if they believe I'm crazy. There's an awful amount of truth in what I said, truth that I prefer to avoid in favour of my bullshit. Maybe I'm just tired of the games.

Even Nightwing sounds a little shocked, as he croaks out "You're a little broken, Jay. But you're still the same person, the same boy that loved the colour green and always ate too much Neapolitan ice cream. You've done your best to convince me that you're irredeemable, but you can't fool me. I see you, Jason."

Sometimes I really am grateful that I decided to make this red helmet part of my uniform.

As I try to find words to respond, Dick's hand leaves my shoulder, and I can hear a tiny click as he presses a button on his comm.

"Nightwing… really? Now? No rest for the wicked, I guess… roger that, O," he mutters in his comm. before turning back to me. "Sorry, Jaybird, duty calls. Good chat!" And with that, a graceful flip over the edge of the roof, he's gone.

Grumbling under my breath miscellaneous curses, I turn back to the warehouse. Funnily enough, my own comm., built into the helmet, does its own little beep.

"Should I even ask how you hacked into this feed?"

"Oh please, Hood; your security is good, but it's not _that_ good." Oracle, Bruce's eye in the sky. I knew her as Batgirl, or Barbie. "B wants to talk to you. I'm switching you over to him now."

"Oh, so you're a phone operator now." I'm only midway through that sentence before she switches me over to B. Rude.

"Hood."

"Bats."

"There's been a mass breakout of Arkham. We could use your help."

"Why didn't Oracle tell me this? Did you have to ask me personally?"

"Yes, because if she had asked you, you would have asked her why _I_ didn't ask you, and use it as an excuse to not help." Man had a point.

"Oh, so you think I'm more inclined to help if you ask?"

"Ja- _Hood."_ And there it is, that tone that clearly says 'You're being a brat right now, Jason Peter Todd, and I suggest you stop.' But only if you know Bruce as well as I do. To others, he would sound perfectly calm. It's the truth, though. I am being a brat. There seems to be an uncomfortable amount of truth being thrown about tonight. I'm going to need to put an end to that before I lose my reputation as an unrepentant liar.

"Fine, fine, B. Where do you want me?" I ask, allowing my voice to take on an admittedly sexy tenor. Not that I find Bruce attractive. He is, but he's still my father. However, I have a talent for unsettling people, and one of the easiest ways to do that is to flirt when I really shouldn't be flirting. Another reason is simply because I enjoy flirting.

Bruce, on the hand… well, let's just say that if he didn't decide to make is civilian persona a playboy, he'd be about as flirty as an old shoe. Even considering the fact that it's impossible to not find the bat suit sexy, the man shuts down anyone attempting to flirt with him unless you're a sexy hero (or thief/assassin) with dark hair (and breasts).

So it doesn't exactly surprise me when he chooses to completely ignore my tone. "You and Red Robin take Upper East End. Stay in contact." And with that, he's gone. Not even a 'goodbye,' or a 'be careful', or an 'I'm sorry, Jason, you're right, I should've killed the Joker.' Terrible father, am I right?

Grumbling under my breath the entire way the East End, I haven't improved my mood in the least when I meet up with Red Robin. Younger brother number one, my replacement, and probably the smartest kid I've ever met. That doesn't make him any less annoying. He greats me with a small smile, probably the best he could do, as the only one that doesn't suffer from emotional constipation in our messed up family is Dick. And Steph, though I've only met her once or twice.

With a grunt in greeting (I'm fluent in man-grunt, as well as several other languages), we set to work. Falling into a familiar rhythm, Replacement and I work in tandem, not really speaking unless we're checking in with O or B. Working through most of the night, we round up a fair few escaped criminals, if I do say so myself. During a lull in action, we're sitting of the ledge of an apartment building's roof, Replacement checking in with O to see if there is anywhere else we are needed. Nightwing, with snot-faced Robin in tow, is heading to our location before we all go to the batcave together for debrief. Not that I am actually planning on going there. In fact, I was just getting ready to slip away quietly, when three thugs decided to rough up some kid in the alley below us. And that, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, was when my night went to shit.

I guess it shouldn't have surprised me. I knew from an early age that someone up there - God, Buddha, Morgan Freeman, whatever - really didn't like me. They were like, "You know that guy? Yeah, fuck that guy," giving me the worst luck in the history of luck. But you know, after the big fiasco that was my first death (I literally went out with a bang), I sort of expected my second to be just as much, if not more, of a fanfare. Should've known I was dead wrong.

It shouldn't have been a big deal; I'd handled situations like this, situations _bigger_ than this, since I was twelve and Robin. Same for Replacement. Yet, here I am, bleeding out in a dirty alleyway. The bullet didn't even have my name on it; that's the kicker. I'd just taken down one thug, Red Robin taking down another, when I saw the third lift a gun we hadn't noticed. It wasn't pointing me. With a speed not many realised a big man like me had, I knocked Replacement out of the way, unfortunately taking his bullet into my abdomen. A very, very unlucky shot, in one of the few weak spots of my Kevlar, which I had been meaning to get around to fixing. Hello, irony.

I know, I know, totally clichéd, right? I mean, could it get anymore unoriginal? I saved someone's life by taking the bullet for them. I should really just be shot in head right now. Surprisingly though, it hurt. Yeah, bullets are supposed to hurt. But I've been shot before, many, many times and usually I just swear a little, then carry on. This wound, it _hurt._ I'd died once, so I already knew that feeling peaceful as you died was complete bullshit. But I didn't think dying from a bullet wound would hurt so much.

Already feeling rather dazed from blood loss, I can see Red Robin shouting into his comm. while trying to keep pressure on the gaping bullet hole, more than I can hear him. Then my vision is filled with Dick (ha-ha, no) as he appears beside me, gripping my hand and eyes filling with tears. His perfect lips are moving, but again, I can't really hear it. Weird that my hearing is the first sense to go. Or maybe I'm just really out of it. I think I can see him saying my name, but it's hard for me to focus on lip reading. Dick searches my helmet, finding the hidden button and pulling it from my face. Over his shoulder, Robin is staring at me, trying not to look worried and failing. Naww, I knew he cared. I can't see the thugs or the kid we attempted to rescue anywhere; they must've gotten the hell out of dodge. Typical.

Then Bruce is there. Or rather, Batman. Not too gently, he pushes Replacement out of the way, taking my other hand. Red Robin manages to keep pressure on my wound, but I know I'm losing too much blood. I know I'm dying. All of a sudden, all my anger at these people seems stupid. They're my family, and I never should've doubted that they cared about me. Look at them; even Bruce is here, losing it because I'm dying.

Forcing my brain to focus, because dammit, I have things to say, I stare up at my father. He's pulled back his cowl, so I can see how worried his eyes are, though his face, as always, remains calm as he tries to figure out how to move me without hurting me. I need to tell him it's no good. That it's okay. I'm not scared.

"I'm… sorry," I force out. Stupid, uncooperative lips. His eyes widen, before his hand lifts to cup my face. He speaks, and I force myself to hear the words.

"It's okay, Jason. You're going to be okay," he says though clenched teeth. "We're going to get you to the batcave, and you'll be up and about in no time."

"It _is_ okay, dad. You can let me go. Let me… die. Like I should've." Now he starts to look panicked. Dammit, I meant to calm him, not freak him out. Let's try again. "I'm not scared. It's okay."

"No, Jason. No. I'm not going to fail you again. I _can't_ fail you again."

"Bruce," Dick sounds desperate, his voice all choked up, "if we are going to save him, we have to get him to the cave, _now._ " Bruce nods, still looking into my eyes. Man, not to be selfish, but I'm kind of glad I won't be here to see the aftermath of all this.

"Everyone, we need to get him into the car as gently as possible…" the rest is just mumbles to me, but I can seem them nod and move into some sort of position. I guess they're not just going to let me die here. Alright, doesn't matter to me where exactly I die; I can ruin this bat mobile if that's what they want.

"Now!" Bruce barks and they start to lift me. Mother fucking of _fuck_ does this hurt. To save myself the pain, I guess, I pass out. Dammit, I thought I was supposed to follow a light. Last time, the only light was the explosion. I was kind of hoping for a nice, little light to follow into hell. It was not to be, only blackness as the pain fades away.

…

 _Dick's P.O.V_

For one of the worst days of my life, it started out fairly normal. Nothing to tip me off of how painful the day was going to get. It's rather unfair, actually. I would've appreciated a little warning. Honestly, there have been quite a few worst days. They didn't give me any warning either, so I guess this was to be expected.

I had breakfast (cereal, of course), went to work (police officer for the GCPD, livin' the dream) and at night, started patrol. Nothing out of the ordinary. While on patrol, I ran into Jason. I say 'ran into,' like it was just a coincidence. Not so much 'coincidence' as much as 'actively seeking him out like a freaky stalker.' I can't help it, I have a need to make sure he's okay, okay? Because he's Jason, with his reckless ways that leave the family sure he has a death wish, and no, the irony of that is not lost on me. And because I'm absolutely smitten with him.

It's something I struggle with. Not because we're both men (I'm bi, and I'm fairly sure he is too, given that the man literally flirts with everyone), but because I'm supposed to see him as my brother. I've never seen him as my brother. When I first met him, I was furious at Bruce, and at him by default, for replacing me as Robin. I was an immature prick, I see now, and I wasn't always the kindest to him. Then, when I grudgingly got over myself, I didn't have all that much time to get to know him before I had that mission off world, and by the time I came back he was… gone.

And I'll always feel guilty for not being there for him when I should've been.

Then, with his grand comeback, he was a man. Not the snarky little kid he was when he died, but the fierce, stubborn, determined, yet hurt and misguided man he is today. In some ways, I really admire him. So many things, terrible things, happened to him, yet he's still standing. I probably would've collapsed under the burden he carries.

I hate that he was so against us when he came back. I wish he had trusted us, that he came to us as soon as he was somewhat healed by the Pit, instead of his years of assassin training. Thankfully, he's more or less a part of the family again (at least, he's not trying to kill us anymore). Because really, he's an amazing man, and he deserves so much more than the hand he's been dealt. Jason has a 'mean streak' as Bruce puts it, that's true. But he's so much more than that. He's probably the most compassionate of us; he doesn't save people from the bad guys for the rush, or because he feels it's his duty, or really for justice. He does it because he actually cares about everyday people.

I'm helplessly in love with the sexy, infuriating man, but I try not to be. Try to fall in love with someone else, anybody else. It hasn't worked.

Which brings me here, staring at his back, as he stares at a warehouse and ignores my presence. Brat. I know he knows I'm here; spatial awareness was one of the first things you have to master to be a Robin.

"Hey, Little Wing," I say, breaking the silence. Jason doesn't visibly react; he could give Bruce a run for his money when it comes to controlling reactions. Except anger. Anger does, and always has, rule Jason.

"What the fuck is it, Goldie?" Blunt as always.

"Do I really need an excuse to see my little brother?" the word almost makes me gag; people shouldn't feel this way for their brothers, dammit!

"If I were the Replacement or the Demon Spawn, probably not. Remember, Goldie, I'm the black sheep. Your keeper won't like you talking to me." _Grayson, he's just trying to wind you up._ I know that. But I still want to hug him and love him and tell him he doesn't have to always be alone. He doesn't have to be the black sheep. Doing that would certainly grant me a one way ticket to the grave, so I settle for putting my hand on his shoulder. I'm very much a physical being; I need contact, especially from him. And I feel he probably needs it too.

"We just want you home, Jaybird."

"But I have to change, first, right? Have to go back, be the fifteen year old boy again, yeah? Well, Dickie, that boy's dead. He died. You're stuck with _me._ And I'm not him, Dick. I'm not your 'Jaybird,' I'm not your 'Little Wing.' The family doesn't want _me_ back. _You_ don't want me back."

 _Oh, Jason._

Mostly, I'm shocked; he doesn't usually open up like this. But I'm also sad. He really believes it, doesn't he? It's so not true, but there's a cold, miserable kind of certainty in his voice. I can feel tears welling up. I'm emotional, sue me.

Swallowing the frog in my throat, I manage to speak. "You're a little broken, Jay. But you're still the same person, the same boy that loved fast cars and always ate too much Neapolitan ice cream. You've done your best to convince me that you're irredeemable, but you can't fool me. I see you, Jason."

Then my bloody comm. went off. Just when I was getting through to him! Typical. Thus started my night of beating up bad guys with Dami, kicking ass and not taking names, since we already knew them. Our busy night was ending, and we were heading to meet up with Timmers and Jay. I knew I would be lucky if Jason would still be there. He always helps when we need him, but he doesn't like to stick around. I think he fears getting too close to people.

Dami and I were almost at their location when Tim's voice screeches over the feed, and my heart sinks.

"Hood's down! Bullet to the abdomen. It's… it's bad."

No. _No, no, no._ Not my Jason, not again.

Running faster than I ever have, Damian hot on my heels, I find them in the alley below where we were supposed to meet. I fall to my knees beside Jason, taking his hand and not even trying to stop my tears. _Oh, God._ Tim's on his other side, face panicked. His hands are crimson with Jason's blood. Crimson like Jason's hood, obstructing his face. I need to see his face.

"Jason, please, please stay with me," I whisper to him, as I try find the latch on his helmet. Fingers tug, and then it's free. Jason's eyes, bright, stunning eyes that are never truly blue or green, but a delightful teal, are squinting at me, studying my face. His is, surprisingly, free from the domino mask that he sometimes wears under the hood. I guess he was expecting a quiet night. The thought almost makes me laugh, if it weren't for my sobs. And for his usually pale face that is now completely bleached of all colour, except for a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and high cheek bones. He always hated his freckles, complaining when he was younger about how childlike they made him look. Secretly, I found them charming. They've faded, now that he's a man, but I'm glad that they're still there. I adore the freckles.

Bruce appears from the darkness, as always, startling me out of my thoughts. He doesn't spare me a glance, his eyes locked on Jason. I can hear Jason's forced words, but for the life of me, I don't know what he said. But I can see Bruce's panicked reaction. Clearly, whatever Jason said, I wouldn't want to hear it. Anything that could make Bruce freak out like that would drive me around the bend.

To be honest, the rest is a blur to me. I'm faintly aware of speaking, of Bruce agreeing with me before barking orders. Lifting Jason and seeing his beautiful eyes sink closed. I feel like screaming, but I don't. He wouldn't appreciate it. _'Dammit, Goldie, would ya stop with the caterwauling?'_ I can almost hear him say. Caterwauling would definitely be a word he'd use, too. He's a bit odd that way.

Even getting to the batcave is a haze of shouts and gloomy colours. Before I know it, I'm pacing the cave, the door between me and Jason firmly closed to me. Alfred and Leslie are on the other side of the door, with him. Doing everything in their power to save his life. I'd be useless in there, I know that, but the desire to throw open that door and be with him is almost all-consuming. And if I didn't have three pairs of stern blue eyes locked on me, I probably would have. So I continue to pace.

An eternity passes, not a single word spoken between the four of us, before the door cracks open and Alfred enters. His face looks drawn and tired, but not broken-hearted. I begin to feel hope again. Instantly, Bruce and I are in his face, demanding answers.

"How is he?"

"Is he alive? Is he okay?"

"Master Jason is alive, sirs. He lost a significant amount of blood and there was extensive internal damage, but he's stable now, through the work of Dr Leslie."

 _Jason is alive._ The words ring in my head like a bell. _He's alive, he's okay._ My knees give out, but luckily, Bruce catches me with an arm around my back.

"Can we see him?" I ask, almost frantically.

"Yes, but don't try to wake him. His body has undergone great shock and needs time to recover." Alfred hasn't finished the sentence before Bruce and I push past him and into the room. The sight that greets me almost has me in tears again. Jason looks so weak and _fragile_. It doesn't make sense; Jason's usually so _vibrant._ I know that's what people often say about me, but it's equally true for him, just in a different way. Jason is angry energy barely leashed back. Dangerous, lethal, powerful. He wasn't always this way. They call him the 'angry' Robin, but that isn't right. The truth is, Jason has always been passionate; he was as quick to laugh as he was to yell. That changed, following his resurrection. Now, his rage consumes him. I haven't seen him truly laugh in a very long time.

It's strange, to see him looking so small. He's always just been larger than life. Not just physically, though he does have several inches and about 50 pounds of muscle on me – the man is _built_ – but his everything.

I slowly approach him, Bruce a few steps behind. We settle on either side of him, each gently gripping one of his hands. I think it was more for our benefit than his, trying to reassure ourselves that he is here and alive. I don't know how long we sat there, in silence, but it must have been a while because when Bruce does speak, it's cracked and rough.

"What is he to you, Dick?"

I wasn't expecting this line of questioning. A 'why weren't you there' maybe. Perhaps an 'it's my fault.' No one can do self-guilt trips quite like Bruce can. His question stumps me. What _is_ Jason to me? Not a brother, that's for sure. Not a friend. Only recently an ally. A love interest? Certainly, but I don't think I can admit that to the man that raised both of us. Though, watching Bruce's face, I don't think I have a choice. They don't call him the World's Greatest Detective for nothing.

"I don't know, Bruce," I answer as honestly as I can. "I'm, well, I've fallen in love with him. And I know that's wrong and I know that I shouldn't, but I really do love him." I can't meet his eyes. But I can practically feel that raised eyebrow.

"Why is it wrong?" I wasn't expecting _that._

"It's just that he's supposed to be my brother, you know," I say, my voice starting to get shrill in a strange form of panic.

"You're not actually related, you know that, right?"

"Of course I know that, Bruce! But, well…" I finally lift my eyes. Yep, knew it, there's that eyebrow. Jeez, Bruce, just lower that damn eyebrow! I get it, I'm dumb! That hint of a smirk isn't helping either.

"He doesn't even feel the same about me." Impossibly, the eyebrow reaches even higher. I'm worried that it's about to disappear into his hairline.

"Whether the two of you call me your father, you're both still my sons, and I'll always see you that way. And I know my sons well enough to notice when they're in love, believe it or not."

Wait.

"Are you suggesting that he's in love with me, too?"

"I'm saying that you two will need to have a chat after he's woken up." Classic Bruce; there's never a straight answer from him unless you really push him, and I'm too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to deal with that right now. "And then I'm going to talk to him. It's amazing how many things you find that you have to say to someone when you've almost lost the opportunity to do so." With that, he says all he's going to say, and sits in silence once more.

I'm left with an unconscious Jason and my thoughts. Not actually that fantastic a combination. I'd much prefer a conscious Jason and my actions. Actions like pulling him into the kind of kiss that would even embarrass the famous playboy Bruce Wayne.

Time seems to stop existing again. But eventually, through several Alfred check-ins and little sibling visits (even Cass; she's been back in Gotham for about a month now), Jason's eyelids start to flicker. My grip on his hand tightens, and I search his face desperately, begging him to wake up fully. Slowly, his eyes open, squinting and confused.

"What the…? This isn't hell," he rasps, before his face floods with pain. "On second thought."

"Jason! You're okay!" I can't contain how happy my voice is, but inside, I'm a teensy bit embarrassed. I must sound like a damn puppy. Bruce moves to fiddle with the IV drips, and Jason starts to relax again.

"Oh, yeah, that's the good stuff," he says with a rough chuckle. "I don't know about 'okay,' Goldie, but I'm breathing."

I lightly swat his shoulder. "Do you have any idea how close a thing it was to you not breathing? Don't ever do anything like that again!"

"Yeah, yeah," Jay rolls his eyes.

"I'll let you two talk," Bruce says quietly, reminding me that he was still in the room. "I'll let everyone know you're awake." He brushes his hand through Jay's hair softly, before striding out of the room.

We're left staring at each other a little awkwardly, before Jay clears his throat. "Uh, so what do you want to talk about? If you want to uncover all my secrets, now's the time. With this many drugs in my system, I'm pretty free and breezy with my words," he jokes.

There's only one thing I really want to say.

"I'm in love with you." Nice, Grayson. Just freak him out, straight off the bat. Good one. His eyes widen comically, and he makes a little choking sound.

"Wh-what?"

"I'm in love with you." You've started this now, you might as well finish it, you big goof.

"Since _when?!_ " Now, I look away, running my hand through my hair. A blush rises on my cheeks.

"Uh, for, for a while."

"Whoa." Jason seems shocked and unable to process this new information. The awkwardness seems to grow with every second. Remember a time when you used to be charming and eloquent, Dick? Yeah, apparently those days are gone. Okay, I can't deal with this silence. So, in an effort to make an awkward situation even worse, I bend over and kiss him. His lips, surprised and still beneath mine, are firm and a little dry, but damn if his lips didn't feel good. But then, hallelujah, he responds. Before I know it, my hand is digging into his thick hair and he's clutching at the small of my back. Gently breaking the kiss, I lean my forehead against his.

It's so quiet, that I almost didn't hear it.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I love you, too," he repeats, his eyes large and vulnerable. His whole heart is in his beautiful eyes right now. I couldn't control my grin even if I tried. I also couldn't stop myself from pulling him into another kiss, this one passionate, but still sweet. Before I let myself get carried away, I lean back.

"Sorry, Jaybird. The family will be down soon, they'll want to see you, and I'm sure they'd want to see us making out when they do come," I say, feeling lighter than I have for so long. "And Bruce wants to talk to you, too."

Jason groans. "Fine, but once they're gone, we're going back to making out."

I grin. "Deal."

…

Things get settled surprisingly quickly. Bruce and Jason do talk, in fact, they're shut in with each other for a couple of hours, talking. Jason agreed to stop killing unless he believed it to be absolutely necessary and Bruce agreed to stop judging him. They both agreed to let everything that happened go and start fresh. They even admitted to loving one another, which is such a massive thing for the pair of them. Bruce wanted him to move back into the Manor, but Jason hated the idea ("One day, I might be able to spend any length of time in the Manor without seeing my own kid ghost running around, but I can't do it now"). Bruce couldn't let him go back to his safe houses, especially in his state, and so they compromised. That compromise lead to Jason moving in with me.

So here we are. We're living together, with me looking after him while he recovers, and we're also dating, if you can call it that. Things in Gotham brighter than ever. But I feel like our adventures are just beginning.

…

 _Author's Note: Hi! Just want to get my intentions out about this new story of mine. Basically, I'm planning on writing a bunch of oneshots of Jason and Dick's life together, as they date, get married, have kids and all the other fun stuff. This first chapter is probably as angsty as it's going to get, so expect heaps of fluff and good times. I don't know how well I got the characterisation; I know Jason's actually a lot more stubborn than this, but I just wanted him to be happy, dammit. Please, review and tell me how I did. Also, feel free to prompt me, but there's no guarantee that I will write your prompt._

 _Title is from Aquaman, by Walk the Moon, which is probably my favourite song at the moment. Hope you enjoyed, thanks!_

 _Katy._


	2. Wait, what?

**The Real Life Love**

 _Dick's POV_

Every day for the past two weeks, I've woken up next to someone who was large and warm. A recovering someone, who by all accounts, should still be on bedrest. Yet, here I am, waking up alone, wondering where the hell the invalid I lived with has disappeared to. Squinting in the dim morning light, I pat the spot where I'm sure I left Jason last night. Nope, just as I suspected, gone. It's not even warm anymore. Did I just dream these past couple of weeks?

The muffled swearing from the kitchen tells me otherwise. Grumbling under my breath, I fling my legs out into the cold unknown. I try to get up, but give up halfway and end up sprawled on the floor. It's too damn early for this. I should be gently kissing and snuggling Jason while he can't get away, because he's still injured. Not getting up to find him. Dammit.

Finding the strength from somewhere, I get to my feet and stumble my way to the kitchen. Low and behold, my missing boyfriend is found. Back curved, no doubt to minimise the pain from his middle, as he pours batter into the waffle iron I didn't realise I owned. He turns as I enter, his smile small, but genuine and gorgeous. Don't let him charm you, Richard. You're supposed to be mad at him.

"Morning, Pidge," he greets, morning voice raspy, "here's your coffee." Good, I'll need it for this. 'Pidge' was an unfortunate consequence of forcing a Disney marathon on him while he couldn't run. He noticed how akin to Tramp he was, and decided that if he was Tramp, then I must be Lady. He's been calling me Pidge or Pidgeon ever since. I would complain, but I actually like the nickname. It's better than 'Dickie' or 'Goldie,' in any case.

"Morning," I reply drily, taking the mug and having a sip. My eyes don't leave his face, and I very carefully make sure I'm not smiling. Jay sighs.

"Just say it, Dick. You'll feel better." That's all the invitation I need.

"What the hell are you thinking, Jason?! You have a bullet wound in your abdomen, you idiot! You'll rip open your stitches. Not to mention all the bruises. Alfred will come to redo the stitches, and he'll yell at me for not taking better care of you! Well, not yell, but he'll look so disappointed in me. And Bruce, he actually will yell at me. Then at you. Then at me again. That's not all, he'll try take you back to the Manor, because clearly, I'm not doing a good job! And then-"

"Whoa, man," Jay interrupts my increasingly panicked rambling. "I know I said let it out, but jeez."

I sigh, running my hand through my hair. "Sorry, but you really should still be in bed."

"I'm fine, Pidge," he replies, turning back to the waffles, placing a couple on a plate and holding it out to me. "I'm not an invalid." Yes, you are. I know better than to say that, though. I can't deal with an angry Jason right now. I take the waffles – they can't be any worse than Alfred's – and sit at the small kitchen table. Passing me a selection of spreads and syrups, Jay sits across from me, sipping at his own coffee.

"What's this for, then?" I ask. Breakfast isn't usually this special for us. I have my cereal and Jason has toast. Surely he didn't make waffles to freak me out. Kind of weird though, that we've only lived together two weeks and we already have our usual.

"Well, I know you have to go back to work tomorrow," he replies, and if I didn't know better, I'd think there was a blush rising over his cheeks. Adorable. "And I kind of wanted to make our last day together special."

"Jaybird, you know we're going to have many days together, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I just… I'm just being stupid."

"No, it's sweet," I smile, and take his hand. He smiles back at me. But I can't help teasing him a little. Only a little bit. "Who knew under the rough exterior, you'd be a big ole' ball of goo?"

Thankfully, he laughs rather than threaten to shoot me. "Not me, I surprised myself with this." I laugh too, enjoying the waffles he made for me. They are better than Alfred's. Much better.

"I can't help but feel there's another reason," I joke. "Are you trying to butter me up?"

"Uhh…"

My eyes widen. "You totally are. What for?"

"I just need you to do a small favour for me," he replies with a smirk. Ah, this is the Jay I know, cheeky and confident. "Since you're going back to work, I'll need something to do while you're gone. So could you please go to this storage container and just fill a box with as many as you can fit. It doesn't matter what you take, just anything." Now _that's_ suspiciously vague. When I try to question him about it, he just shrugs, and passes me a key and bit of paper with an address. Breakfast is pleasant after that, but he still won't tell me what's in the container. I guess I'll have to go to find out. Maybe that was his intention. Damn that mysterious dork.

Having no clue what I'll find, I head out. The address leads me to an actually very well kept storage facility, not one of the many cheap ones in Gotham where there are more rats in the containers than actual stuff. It must be expensive to store things here. Quickly finding the container, I open it, expecting a plume of dust in my face which didn't actually come. I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this.

The container was just filled of books. There must be more than a thousand in here. And there was all kinds of books: leather bound classics, glossy young adult novels, and heavy non-fiction tomes. Not all of them were in English; there was also plenty of German, Russian and even some Chinese. Where did Jason collect all these? Why does he keep them here? Well, that one's kind of obvious. The amount of moving Jason did would make it impractical to carry all these around with him. Why so many? Hasn't he ever heard of a library? I can't even imagine what all this is worth.

Jason said it didn't matter what I grabbed, and there didn't really seem to be any kind of order in here, so I just filled the cardboard box I brought with me. Grabbing all kinds of things, I really hope he doesn't mind how random I'm picking these. Goodness, it's heavy. Carefully carting the box – it breaking would be the last thing I need – I lock up and head home.

Jason's thrown himself over the couch, dishes done in the kitchen. Actually, I think he's tidied up the whole apartment. I'd be mad, but I'm actually kind of grateful. I'm not the tidiest person, I know. He grins as I enter, eyes latching onto the box eagerly. Lowering the box to the floor beside him, I raise my eyebrows at the way he rummages through the books, muttering little things to himself. "Oh good, you brought all three. Ugh, really? Why'd ya grab that one? Oh yeah, forgot about this one. Hmm, my French is a little rusty, it'll be good to read this."

"Are you not going to explain yourself?"

"Hmm? Oh, thanks for getting these." I chuckle; he's not even listening to me, he's so invested in his books.

"I asked if you were going to explain the storage container packed full of books, but I guess I'm just a noise to you know."

"Mmhmm." Yup, I've lost him. Finally selecting a shiny, red book, he settles himself in, face content. I lean over to the cover. Really, Jay? I really should stop being surprised.

"Ruby Red? Is that a teen romance, Jay?"

He isn't even embarrassed. "Yeah, it's about a 16 year old time traveller. Shush, it's really good. I've got it in the original German, but this is the English version." He has two copies of the same book? Why? Lifting my hands in exasperation, I leave him to it. I can't help but feel a little sad. Like he said, it's the last day before I have to go back to work. Emergency leave can only last so long. I was kind of hoping he'd want to spend it with me, not in a book. Slumping into the arm chair, I sigh.

Oh, Richard, stop being silly. You're not a kid, you don't need your boyfriend's constant attention. Jay looks up at the noise, probably taking in my dejected expression. Taking a bookmark from his pocket (does he just carry them around?), he shuts his book.

"Heya, Pidge. You wanna watch a movie or something?"

Looking up with I smile, I nod. He smiles back, and gestures to the shelf dedicated to my DVDs. I take that to mean 'You pick something, Dick, I bow to your superior taste in movies.' Or something like that. Quickly scanning the titles, I pick Skyfall. Jay would never say no to a good 007 movie. I move back over to the couch, gesturing for him to sit up. He does, just enough so that I can slip in behind him. His back is to my chest, and he rests his head on my shoulder. It's a little awkward, he's a fair bit taller than me, but somehow it feels right. Good. I press a kiss to his temple as he relaxes against me.

"It was an escape. The books, I mean," Jay says softly, like he's admitting a secret. I lower the volume, letting him speak. "I'd go to the library, borrow books, and I'd read them. When mum, uh, when she was having a bad day, sometimes I'd read to her. I liked to think I was helping."

Oh, Jay.

"Then when Bruce adopted me, all of a sudden I didn't need to borrow books. I could own them, they were my stories. So, I started collecting them. I wasn't sure how long it was all going to last, so I'd stockpile them, hide them all within the Manor. It just became habit, to buy books, read them, and then store them. Even after I came back, and started travelling, I'd buy them. Then whenever I got a chance to come back to Gotham, I'd put them in that container. I don't even know how many I have now."

I'm not sure how to respond to this, so I just hold him. I just can't imagine it, little Jason reading to his mum as she had a bad trip. But he just keeps surprising me. I never would've guessed he'd have such a passion for literature. And it seems that he'll truly read anything.

"I just love books, ya know? There's something so relaxing about a good story, and there's always something to learn." Jay, having said his piece, settles into my arms. I don't think he needs me to say anything, just to listen. So we watch the movie.

…

 _Jason's POV_

Blearily cracking my eyes open, I stretch, hands gripping the headboard. Then I realise that that was a terrible idea. My stitches tug painfully at my skin, and I can't help my groan.

"Careful," Dick lightly admonishes from somewhere above me, before I feel his soft lips on my forehead. Pulling my eyes my open (I hadn't noticed when they closed), I peer up at him. And, damn. I mean, I'd known that Dick's day job was as a cop, but I'd never really given much thought to what that would entail. Which is sad, because Dick in a uniform like that has got to be one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. Just, damn. He's even got that silly hat, but somehow, he makes it look good. The man could make a potato sack look good.

A saucy grin tugs at my lips. "Mornin', Officer."

"Oh, god, Jay. Don't smile at me like that."

"Hmm?"

His eyes twinkle with a sly glint. "You're supposed to be recovering. But if you keep smiling at me like that…" He trails off as he gets closer. Suddenly tired of this game, I reach up and tug on the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss. Dick happily complies, but too soon, he's pulling away.

"As much as I'd love to stay here forever, I have to go. Have fun," he winks, then leaves.

I'm bored. That thought has been running through my head all day, and it's only one pm. Dick won't be back till after five. I have my books, but it's awfully quiet in this loft by myself. Which is weird, because I've been living alone most of the time since I've been back. This feels… different. Maybe because I haven't here very long with Dick not also being there. But I can't help but feel a little lonely. I can't even work on any cases; Dick's banned me from everything related to our night job. _"I know you, Jay. You'll work on a case, rush off on a lead, ruin your stiches and we'll be back to square one."_ He's probably right, but it still rankles.

C'mon, something happen! I'm so bored! And alone.

Finally, _finally,_ something does happen. My phone rings. Not Dick's home phone, which wouldn't have been that exciting, but my personal cell phone. I can count how many people know that number on one hand.

"Hello?"

" _Jaybird?"_

"Roy? Where are you?"

" _I'm in… it's not important. Where are you?"_ He sounds strange. Stressed. That's unusual for the upbeat redhead.

"Gotham. I got shot, me and Dick got together, I made up with the family… it's a long story."

" _What? You and…? You're injured? You and Bruce sorted it out? Dick? What weird alternate universe_ is _this?"_

"Ah, that's not important. I'll explain later. What's up with you?"

" _Well, it's also a long story. I, uh, I'm a father now."_

Okay, what?

"What?"

" _I just found out, about a week ago. Lian, she's three. Her mother, well, she found me and gave Lian to me, saying she couldn't keep her safe anymore."_

"Wow, what're ya gonna do?"

" _Jaybird, I have no fucking clue. Did you say you were in Gotham?"_

"Yeah."

" _I'll see you in two days."_

…

 _Author's note: Whoo, I updated! Don't expect me to always update this quickly, I'm actually really busy with uni stuff atm, believe it or not. But this story has me excited, and I can't stop writing it. Please, tell me what you think. Thanks,_

 _Katy._


	3. Why are you even here?

**The Real Life Love**

 _Jay's POV_

Lian and I are watching some random kid's show with pastel colours and ukuleles when I hear Dick opening the front door. She, in the adorable toddler way, is laughing and clapping her chubby hands as I bounce her on my knee. There is a rattle and a small thump when Dick ditches his keys and hat on the kitchen bench.

"Hey," I call out, over my shoulder.

"Hi, guys," Dick replies, coming up behind the couch and kissing the top of my head. He tickles Lian's belly, increasing the pitch of her giggles and squeals. "And why do we have the pleasure of this sweet girl's company tonight?"

"Roy's out buying furniture for their new apartment, and he says that's easier to do without a little girl that requires constant attention. I thought he'd be back by the time you got home, though."

"Ah, it's alright." Dick throws himself onto the arm chair, legs sprawled out. I take a closer look at him. His face looks drawn and tired, though he's making an effort to smile at me and Lian. His glossy black locks, usually neat, are disordered, hair sticking up at strange angles. Concern bubbles in my chest. It's odd to see Dick this way; he's always so presentable and handsome. Not that he's not handsome now. He is, he just… you're babbling in your own head now, Jason, you ninny.

"Are you okay, baby? Tough day?" I ask as my eyebrows scrunch. Dick blinks at me, a smile only a tiny bit more genuine than the previous twitching at his lips. He opens his mouth, looking about to deny it, then thinks better of it.

"Yeah," he answers, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, it hasn't been a good day." Standing, he moves to sit next to me on the couch. I lower Lian to the floor, moving the crayons and colouring book spread out of the carpet closer to her. After I lean back, Dick tucks his face between my shoulder and neck, hand coming up to rest on my chest. He doesn't say anything. Neither do I. If he wants to talk about it, he will; he doesn't need me to push. Unlike me, he actually can talk about what he's feeling without being forced to. I just have to wait until he's ready to tell me.

It takes a little while, but I don't break the silence. I keep a careful eye on the toddler, to make sure she doesn't go exploring. Luckily, she's content to scribble colours into the book.

"It wasn't just one thing, it was a series of terrible things," Dick says softly into my neck. "Had to respond to several murders, a domestic violence case and a few other things. It just, it just hasn't been a good day." Dick Grayson, the perpetual bleeding heart. I love him for it. Even when it's hard to see him like this, when things hit too hard.

"I'm sorry today was hard," I reply, but I don't say more. He doesn't need words. So, I give him all the physical comfort he needs before can he feel okay again. My hand strokes gently through his hair, and I wrap my other arm around him.

This is how Roy finds us, after crashing through the door.

"C'mon, guys! There's a baby in the room!" He exclaims, before lifting a wriggly Lian into his arms. He kisses her cheek and she tries to colour his with her purple crayon. Dick lifts his head, his smile actually real this time. Real and perfect.

I roll my eyes at Roy, "and this is the thanks I get for babysitting Lian for you?"

"Pssh, with a baby this well behaved, it's pretty much her babysitting you." He tickles his daughter, and continues in baby voice, "Isn't that right, sweetheart? You have to keep your Uncle Jaybird out of trouble, don't you?"

Dick laughs, loud and contagious. "That does seem about right, Jay. When you're looking after Lian, you can't go out and stir things up, like I know you're dying to do since you've gotten your stitches out."

Snorting, I retort, "If I really wanted to cause trouble, a baby wouldn't stop me. I have a talent for that kind of thing."

"True, true," Dick nods knowingly.

"Well, guys, we're gonna head home," Roy says, gathering Lian's belongings with one hand.

"You sure? You could stay for dinner. We were planning on getting Chinese tonight," Dick says.

"Nah, got to get this little one feed and in bed. She's up too late already," Roy replies, heading to the door. "Thanks, Jay. See you later." The door shuts behind them.

"We planned Chinese, did we?" Even I can hear the mockery in my tone. To soften it, I let one of my crooked smiles form. I have a suspicion that Dick finds them irresistible. Which is suddenly confirmed when he climbs into my lap and kisses me.

"No, but now that I've said it, I really want Chinese," he says when we part for breath.

"Right now?"

"Hmm, maybe not right now."

…

 _Dick's POV_

"Jason," I whisper from the doorway of our bedroom. He doesn't look up from his book; a battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice._

"Jason," I whisper from the foot of the bed. No response. Not even an upward flick of his eyes or a raised eyebrow.

"Jason," I whisper as I peer over the top of the pages, straddling his thighs. Finally, he looks at me with hooded blue-green eyes.

"Richard," he says, his voice low and gruff, which still sends shivers down my spine. "I'm reading."

"I know," I reply. "I missed you." You're playing at being aloof, Jay, but I see that little smile. Flopping down, I rest my head on his chest, the loud thump of his heart under my ear. Sometimes I still can't believe he's really here. But here's the proof, that steady beat. And I'll never stop being grateful that Jay's heart started beating again.

Jason, for his part, doesn't react beyond propping the book on my head. Cheeky bastard. But when he's not turning pages, he's resting his hand on the nape of my neck, massaging gently. Until I start to slip my hand up his tee-shirt. Can you blame me? His abs are incredible.

Sighing, the sound more fond than annoyed, he closes the book. I look up, and there it is. That sexy, confident, full of sin smirk. How? Where does someone learn to smile like that?

"Alright, Pidge, c'mere," he murmurs, pulling me closer. I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to this, I think as he tugs me into a messy kiss. Of course, it's once we really start to settle into the kiss that we're interrupted. By our brothers. Or, as I will now call them, the two Cockblockers.

"Called it, Drake," Damian says from the window, as me and Jay break apart. "I told you they'd be messing around."

"Actually, you said they'd be going at it like rabbits, which is still a disturbing thing to hear from a twelve year old," Tim pointed out dryly. Both of them are in full patrol gear. Which reminds me, we have patrol. Oh well.

"If it isn't Tweedledum and Tweedledumber," Jason grumbles, still beneath me. Brothers or no, I'm comfy here, and I have no plans to move. "Sorry, kiddies, it's grown-up time now. Buzz off."

"Really, Todd? And he's Tweedledumber, correct?"

"Sure, whatever. Just get out."

"No can do, you guys need to see this," Tim says, pulling a piece of folded paper from his utility belt. Sitting up, I shuffle so I'm sitting on Jay's thighs again, rather than his hips. I take the paper, and can't help my groan when I unfold it. Front page of a magazine, proudly displaying photos of me and Jason leaving and entering our apartment. _"Wayne Ward and his Secret Lover."_ Dear lord. I didn't even know the paparazzi still followed me. Bruce and Tim take up most of the spotlight these days.

Snatching the paper from me, Jay glares at it in increasing horror. He hasn't had to face a situation like this for quite a while. I really should have seen it coming. We've been together for three months now. It was just a matter of time before the tabloids caught on. I should've warned Jay, dammit. God, what if he freaks out. What if he leaves? He hasn't had a public identity in forever; this is probably too overwhelming.

"So, uh, what's the plan?" Jason croaks, voice strained. "I mean, we have to respond to this somehow, or they'll swarm, right? At least, that's how I remember it. Oh, Jesus." He clutches his hair, white tuft sticking out between his fingers.

"Yeah, we do have to do something," Tim acknowledges, one hand on his hip. Damian's settled himself against the wall, arms crossed and face bored. "Bruce's plan to fix it, well, you might not like it."

Jason groans. I rub his shoulder. "Hey, it's going to be okay," I murmur to him. He nods, lowering his hand in his hair and shifting a little to face Tim straight on.

"Hit me with it then, Timmers."

Tim sighs, before quickly explaining, "We have to give you a new identity, and you'll have to come out in public as his boyfriend. To avoid rumours and questions about you, Bruce thinks that we'll stage it that you were the son of a well off, but not too high society, family in Gotham. You still have the accent, after all. After your family died and you finished school, you travelled the world for two years. You're twenty, so it should work. You met Dick in Italy, when he went on 'holiday,' (I was really on a mission, we just publicised it as a holiday) four months ago. And this way, people won't accuse you of being after Dick's, or rather, Bruce's money, as you'll have some of your own."

"But I don't have any money," Jay says, then looks embarrassed, like he's surprised that that was the first thing that came to his head. "And please, don't just shove a bunch of Bruce's money at me. I don't think I'm comfortable with that, yet."

"Actually, you do," I say quietly. "When Bruce adopted you, he set up a trust fund. He didn't touch even after you… you know. And he kept it after you came back, waiting till the right time to give it to you."

"Oh," Jason looks shocked. I think it still surprises him when he finds out people actually care about him. "Well, then, I guess I do have money."

Tim nods, "Yeah. We just need to settle on your name. Sorry, but Jason Todd-Wayne is dead; it'll be scandalous if Dick Grayson started dating a man with the same name as his dead brother. We were thinking Jason Peters, similar enough to your last name that you'll be able to remember it and it becomes instinctive to say it."

Jason shakes his head, "Nah, make it just Jay Peters."

"Why?" I ask. Then, lo and behold, my forever-cocky boyfriend blushes, red as a tomato. Now I _have_ to know why. I prod his ribs. "C'mon, tell me."

"It's just…" He looks away, focusing on something over my shoulder. When he answers, he sounds frustrated. "If we ever married, I'd legally be Jason Grayson, and that name is fucking ridiculous!"

I wasn't ready for that. A laugh bursts from between my lips, and I cover my mouth. "Why would you change your name? You wouldn't have to," I force out, trying to rein in my laughter. Jason leans forward, tucking his head beneath my chin. Automatically, I wrap my arms around him.

"Because I'd want my name to mean something. I am a Todd, but if I couldn't be a Todd, I'd rather be a Grayson," he mutters into my skin. My laughter dies. I feel actually blown away.

"Oh my God, you two are just too cute!" Another uninvited guest squeals. I look over to see Steph, as Batgirl, folding her hands over her heart. Tim looks uncomfortable, having witnessed such a thing, and Damian looks flat out disgusted. Jason just burrows further into me, like he was hoping to just disappear. Like I'd ever let him get away with that.

"What are you even doing here, Brown?" That's a valid question, Dami. She shrugs, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I heard that this was where the party was. And I'm glad that I came, just to see that absolute adorableness."

"Right," Tim clears his throat. "Jay Peters it is. I'll work on the other details later. C'mon guys, let's, uh, let's go." As quickly as and as silently as they appeared, they're gone, and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. I love them, but I really want them gone for now.

Jay shifts, unsettled, before looking up at me. "Uh. Sorry. I, um, got a little over the top, eh? Just, just forget what I said. Please. I mean-"

"Shut up," I cut him off. Then I kiss him.

…

 _Author's Note: I really, really should be studying. But nope, I just keep writing. Thanks for all the support, see you next time!_

 _Katy._


	4. I think I'm going to need a drink

**The Real Life Love**

 _Dick's POV_

You know, if someone told me four months ago that this was where I'd be now, and I'd probably laugh, then cry, then punch them for saying such a cruel joke. Yet here I am, happily spending Bruce's money as I search for the perfect suit for my boyfriend. Jason doesn't know that I've been using my little black card all day – he'd probably more grumpy if he did – but all his little cries of 'no, Dick, I don't need that, it costs a fortune' will have to stop sometime.

At least Babs is having a good time, gleefully pointing out more things for Jay to try on. She has no patience for Jay's reluctance, _"Jay, you're gay, you should be loving this."_ To which he'd yell, _"That's an unfair stereotype, and I'm bi!"_ Some people would find it weird that my ex-girlfriend is helping my current boyfriend get a wardrobe fit for someone dating a billionaire's son. They'd be right, this is weird. But also nice.

"Jay, this shirt will make your eyes looking bluer. Try it on."

"Why would I want my eyes to be bluer?"

"Yeah," I join in, "I like them the way they are." Jay smiles a small, sweet smile. Babs rolls her eyes.

"You two are too much," she says.

The last task of this shopping trip is to find something for him to wear at the next charity ball tomorrow night. The plan is for us to publically come out as a couple at this thing, so we have to look our best. Which leaves me and Babs shoving mountains or suits and tuxes into Jay's arms, much to the disgust of the salesperson assisting us. Henry, an effeminate man, is very much frustrated with Jay's bitching, seeing as he "has sooo much potential."

It takes two hours of this, which honestly surprised me that he lasted that long, before Jay has had enough.

"Alright, I'm done! I'll take the charcoal grey, but the sleeves have to be half an inch longer. Red shirt, forget the ties, I'm never going to wear one. I'll take that shoe, because it's the only one not so damn shiny. And Henry, I swear to God, you show me another bow tie, and I'm going to shove my foot so far up your arse it'll replace your brain, got it?" Jason instructs off in a no-nonsense, authoritative voice, and Henry scurries off to obey.

Leaving me and Babs to gape at him like a pair of stunned fish. Where the _hell_ did that come from?

Jay turns to us, a little defensive, rubbing the back of his neck. "What? I was a Wayne, too. It may have been a while, but I still know how to dress."

"So, wait, you could have done that at the start?" When will my mind stop spinning? All I can hear is Isla Fischer's voice, _"you speak Prada?"_

"Well, yeah. I knew what I'd get as soon as I walked in the door. But you and Babs looked like you were having fun, so I let you play Ken doll with me."

"You're an arse," Bab says with a fond smile, swatting his thigh. "Didn't you think we had better things to do?"

"Not really, Babs," he replies with a cheeky grin. "I figured the only reason you came was because you were bored."

She nods like that is a fair assessment. "Well, alright. Looks like we're done here. Dick, take the bags." And with that, she rolls out, literally, Jason following closely behind. Leaving me, still standing there. I look down. There are a lot of bags. And Jason has the keys. He wouldn't leave me here, would he? Yeah. Yeah, he totally would. Then Henry is at my elbow, with yet more bags, hand outstretched for my credit card. Dammit.

All that I suffered becomes worth it, however, the following night. Because, yes, Jason was right. He does know how to dress. Only when I'm sure that I can open my mouth without drooling, I respond to the question in his eyes.

"Jay… you look _incredible._ "

And he did. The suit fit him to perfection, proudly displaying his broad shoulders and accentuating his height. The red of his shirt didn't make his eyes look bluer or greener, but brought out the lovely teal shade. He put no effort in his hair, the very dark brown – plus a little white – locks messy and sexy, like usual. His skin is always pale, and he made no attempt to hide the few visible scars, but the shirt made his freckles stand out a little more, bringing a little cute factor to his overall dangerously enticing look.

"Really? That's hard to do, with Dick Grayson around," he says with a little self-depreciating smirk.

"Trust me, no one will even be looking at me," I grin. He snorts (he better not do that when we're in polite company) and tugs me into his arms.

"I doubt that, but I don't mind. As long as you're mine, there's not much I mind." Our kiss in interrupted by, surprise surprise, the two Cockblockers.

"Jeez, do you ever stop?" Tim asks, exasperated. "Anyway, we have to go. Bruce is letting you guys have first pick of cars."

"Bags the Maserati!" Jay announces, and is then gone. I shake my head at his retreating back. Jay and his love for cars. We waited for the others to leave; we were to arrive at the function a little later. When we exit the car, Jason flinging the keys to a waiting valet, we were, as predicted, swarmed. Paparazzi buzzed, spouting questions so fast we had no hope of answering any.

"What's your relationship with Dick Grayson?"

"What's your name, mystery lover?"

"Are you just after the Wayne fortune?"

"Where did you meet?"

"Are you currently living together?"

My hand finds the small of Jay's back, guiding him through the nightmare. I don't miss the way his hands clench and he grinds his teeth. Finally, we enter the ballroom, and face a different kind of monster. Cool smiles and glinting diamonds fill the room, and suddenly, we're again surrounded.

"Richard! We haven't seen you forever. Who's your friend?" Three dazzling debutantes face us, clasping delicate flutes of champagne. They smile in a way that I'm sure they think is alluring, but really isn't. Like vultures.

"This is Jay Peters," I introduce politely. "He's my boyfriend." I can't help but smile for real; those words still send a thrill through me. The women look shocked and disappointed; landing a Wayne would be dream come true for many people here. And Jay, though unknown, is an attractive young man. Thankfully, then, Bruce finds us.

"Dick! There you are," his smile is pure Brucie Wayne, fake and stunning. "Ladies, please excuse my son and his partner, I need to speak with them." They smile, which are somehow even more fake than their earlier ones, but retreat. Bruce allows his persona to slip for second, looking at us with concern.

"You doing alright? I know the piranhas out there couldn't have been fun."

"We're fine, Bruce," Jay answers, looking a touch annoyed, but overall relaxed. "This isn't my first rodeo." Bruce nods, relieved, before moving on to mingle.

Thus starts a night that I'll probably never forget. I have never, in my life, felt as jealous and possessive as I did then. All the ogles, stares, unsubtle innuendos, fuelled the ugly bitterness stirring in me. I hated it, the way they looked at Jay. Like he was an object, a pretty trinket I had on my arm. I understand that that was often how people looked at me, like I'm a sex object and nothing more, but I guess it didn't bother me so much when it was directed at me. At Jay though, that was a totally new beast.

It didn't help that he was unknown. People bought the story we had fabricated, but I think that was what made it worse. With me, people didn't dare being too forward, as I was Wayne's ward. I had money and power. Jay, though supposedly wealthy, wasn't high society. They treated him like he was my trophy wife; just a pretty face. They thought that meant that they could take liberties with him that they wouldn't with someone they thought belonged there. All the touches and sly jokes directed at him made me want to break fingers.

Jay wasn't fairing much better. I could see him reining in his anger every second, with every proposition and stroke of his arm or leg. One particular middle aged woman went so far as to grab his butt. I almost knocked her out cold. How dare she touch him like that?!

The final straw though, made me see red. With it, I was taking Jay's hand and pulling him from the room, fully set on going home and not looking back. Bruce's rage filled eyes followed, nodding his approval of our departure.

Some fat, rich, condescending piece of absolute trash, had loudly suggested to Bruce that he should be disappointed that his ward had gotten to that hot piece of ass before he had. While Jay and I had been in hearing distance. Bruce immediately tensed, as did I. Jay looked sick. And that was it. I had to take him out of here.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into his skin as we lay sprawled on the couch, suit jackets flung carelessly on the floor.

"I think I'm going to need a drink. And brain bleach. A lot of brain bleach," he replies, with a half-assed attempt at a smile. I sigh, holding him close.

The next morning, Tim brings over the paper. _"Secret Lover's Identity Revealed."_ I think I'm going to need a drink.


	5. He should have called, dammit

**The Real Life Love**

 _Jay's POV_

 _There's no reason to be worried, Jason. None at all. There's probably a lot of traffic. Yeah, heaps of traffic. They would've called you if something happened. Bruce would probably be here, trying to stop me from going on a killing spree. Yeah, no need to worry, none at all._

Yeah, sometimes I'm not very convincing, even to myself. But, dammit, Dick should have been home an hour ago. The bastard hasn't even called. Surely he would have called if there's nothing to worry about, if he's just running late. Why hasn't he called? Doesn't he know I'm losing my damn mind?

Remember those days when you didn't care about anyone except the innocent victims, and you never had to pull your hair out? Those were good days. Only, not really, because there was no Dick. Fuck, when did I turn into such a sap?

" _Aaaand I…. will always… love you!"_

What in the world is that?

Following the sound, I end up in the living room, throwing couch cushions around. Where is that coming from? Is that my phone? Yes. Yes, it was. The shiny, new Samsung that Dick and Tim insisted that I get. I am perfectly fine with a small, disposable phone, thank you. It seems Dick had a bit of fun personalising my phone for me. Because I could've sworn I had set the ring tone to something normal, just beeps, not Whitney Houston. He's even selected a photo for his caller I.D. The one when he ran up behind me, squished his face against mine and took the photo before I even knew what was happening. Dick's grin was huge, sky-blue eyes sparkling. Me, on the other hand, I had wide, surprised eyes and a small, grudging smile. Unlike Dick, I wasn't looking at the camera, but at him.

We looked… good. Happy.

I don't even notice that the call had ended before Whitney started up again. I'll have to change that, as soon as I figured out how. Or, maybe not.

"Dick?" I ask as I answer the phone. "Where are you?"

" _Hey, baby, I'm sorry. I got really caught up in a case; didn't even notice the time."_ Relief fills me at his voice. I can't even find it in me to be angry that he took so long to call me. As long as he's okay.

"All good. When will you be home?"

" _Not till real late, sorry. I'm in the zone. You be all right to patrol without me?"_

No.

"Yes."

" _Awesome, I'll see you later. Love you!"_

"Love you, too."

Well, great.

…

It's the kind of tired that you feel in your bones. Every inch of me sagged as I dragged myself through the living room window. The patrol wasn't overly complicated, no supervillains or gangs to bring down. Really, it was all just one petty crime after another. But boy, was there a lot of petty crime tonight. I barely had time to breath, going from assault to robbery to attempted rape, all night long. Kind of makes you appreciate when you have a partner, with half the work load.

"Dick?" I call to the empty apartment. Dammit. I thought for sure he'd be home by now. Moving into the bedroom, I gratefully remove my hood, running my hand through my hair. That's better. Indifferently, I throw my uniform in the secret, heavily reinforced closet we keep for our vigilante stuff. Dick will chew me out for it later. Mess in the apartment? No big deal for him. Mess in our costume closet? Run. Run for your life. Ah, I am just too tired to care.

After pulling on a pair of sweatpants lying on the floor, I collapse on the bed. Sleep, finally. Or so it should be. And yet, my eyes remain stubbornly open. Flipping onto my back, I stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling. Dick should probably mention that to the landlord. C'mon, sleep. I know I want to; I feel sleep pulling at me in every fibre of my being. Nope. My own body is trying to punish me.

Groaning – probably sounding a bit like a zombie – I go back to the living room. Dick likes to keep this ridiculous, fluffy blanket over the back of the couch. I'm not the only one who hates it; Bruce grits his teeth every time he sees it. Grabbing the blue and red monstrosity, I wrap it around me as I collapse on the couch. In classic Dick Grayson style, it had a massive superman symbol on it. Flipping through channels, I settle on old x-men cartoon reruns. Usually, I'd read, but I truly don't think I have the focus for it right now.

Eventually, Dick's key turns in the door, and he walks in with a yawn. He knocks the hat of his head, lazily dropping his keys to the floor as he removes his tie. Kicking the hat as he moves closer, his eyebrows lift to see me lying on the couch. Wrapped in the stupid superman blanket. Dick smiles, though, with his tired eyes red-rimmed.

"What're you still doing up, hun?" he asks, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt. Now that's something that can wake me up. Or maybe not, as I can feel how slowly I'm blinking right now.

"Can't sleep," I reply, falling into my old Gotham slums accent. All of Bruce's hard work, gone, if I get tired or angry enough. Dick just mumbles, undoing his belt and letting his pants for the floor. My body's too tired to react much, which is new. Gingerly stepping out of his pants, not giving a damn about the trail of clothes over the floor, Dick sinks to knees in front of my face. With a gentle smile and lids half-closed, he kisses me, a light press of lips.

We can't control ourselves, even when exhausted, and the kiss slowly increases in passion until I've draped my arms over his shoulders. Tugging him closer, as his fingers trace my jaw and sink into my hair. Pulling back with a small sigh, Dick rubs his thumb over my eyebrow.

"Bed?"

"Nah," I mumble as my eyes slip closed. "Just cuddle."

I can hear the laughter in his voice. "So that's the secret to getting you to cuddle willingly? Get you really tired?"

"Shush," my fingers searching until they can weakly cover his lips. "Cuddle now." He chuckles lightly, allowing me to pull him on top of my chest. I wrap him in the blanket with me, then rest my hands lightly on his back as he buries his face in my neck. With his lips pressing soft kisses into my skin, finally, I fall asleep.

…

 _Author's Note: Thanks to_ _Lawlipop9991 (Guest) for the prompt, I had fun writing this! Had a mid-semester test tonight, which went alright, so I thought I'd celebrate with a little JayDick fluff. So the prompt couldn't be better timed. Hope you enjoyed!_

 _Katy._


	6. This is going too far

**The Real Life Love**

 _Jay's POV_

I'm not sure, but I have a feeling Dick isn't very happy with me. Possibly because of the quiet glares and snappy answers he's been giving me all day. From not saying thank you when I gave him dinner, to grumbling and refusing to change the channel. He's actually really pissing me off. I've really been working on my anger issues, so I decided to do my best to ignore it.

But this is going too far.

"Why are you so far away?" I whisper to his back.

We were in bed, and I was trying to sleep. It's only been eight months since we moved in together, but already, I find it really hard to sleep without him beside me. I'm a big man, and I'll be the first to admit that I have a habit of taking up the majority of bed-space, no matter how big the bed actually is. It doesn't help that Dick's a cuddler. He can't help himself from snuggling with the nearest warm thing when he sleeps. We always end up in a massive tangle of bodies. It took a lot of getting used to, but eventually, I started to need that contact to be able to sleep. Dick knows this.

Yet here he is, lying as far away from me as possible. Barely balancing on the edge, and tugging the covers firmly to him, he doesn't respond. So, I do as any rational and annoyed boyfriend would do. And push him off.

"What the hell?!" He yelps, his Batman-trained reflexes failing him as he tumbles to the floor, taking all the bedsheets with him. Dick's face, angry and red, pops up, with his blue eyes fuming.

My loud guffaws probably didn't help matters. Couldn't help it; his face was priceless. Even his precision thrown pillow to the face couldn't silence my laughter. Jumping to his feet, he sputters for a few seconds, before muttering. "You're such a jerk."

Collecting the sheets, he climbs back into bed, but doesn't let me have any. I'm not going to let him off so easy this time, though. Ignoring his complaints, I manhandle him closer, until my chest is against his back and my arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. Placing gentle kisses on his sun-tanned shoulder, I try out my seductive interrogation skills. He was always better at this kind of thing than me; I much prefer more straightforward methods for information. But seeing as I can't exactly beat him up until he tells me what crawled up his arse, I'm going to have to give this a go.

"What's the matter, Pidge?" I whisper, kissing a trail up his neck. He attempts to supress a moan and a shiver, and fails terribly. "Why're you so grumpy with me?"

Dick shakes his head, holding himself tighter and keeping frustratingly quiet. Time to turn this up a notch. "You can tell me, baby," I murmur, fingers slowly stroking up his abdomen as I take small nips at his earlobe. He gives in with a small sigh, twisting in my arms and narrowing his eyes at me.

"You messed up my vigilante closet," he admits gruffly, a strange tone from him. But, what? I messed up the fucking closet? I can't contain the annoyance anymore. It's been bubbling in my chest all day, and I've done my best, but this? Too stupid.

"That's it?" His eyes temporarily widen, then narrow again. Shoving at my chest, he wriggles, but I simply tighten my hold. I keep my eyes locked on his, and our irritation at each other sparks.

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?" He demands, pouting in a way that I'd usually find cute. Not right now, I don't.

"You've been playing at this passive-aggressive bullshit all day, and it's because I didn't tidy up after myself? You got any idea how hypocritical that is? When was the last time you tidied?"

Dick opens his mouth to retort, but shuts it again. Damn straight, he knows I'm right. He doesn't actually seem to be giving up, but rather thinking about his answer.

"That closet is the only thing I work to keep tidy, and you know that, Jason," he hisses. This is odd, now that I think about it. Having a quiet argument right in each other's faces, still holding each other tight. I've never had an argument quite like this one.

"Don't you get how petty you're being?" I sigh, frustrated, but over this. "Look, forget it. I'm sorry I messed up the closet. I'll try not do it again. But, really Dick, don't do this again. You got a problem, just tell me. This bullshit isn't going to fly with me. It took all I had not to shoot you."

Dick stares at me, wide eyes flooding with sudden guilt. Damn it, that's not what I wanted. I just wanted the dumb argument done. Ducking his head under my chin, he presses tight against me. "You're right, I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."

Sighing again, I kiss the top of his head. "It's fine, I forgive you. But I meant what I said. Don't play this game again, yeah?"

He nods, yawning into my chest. "Good," I say, pulling his face up to kiss him properly. My thumb rubs over his cheekbone, fingers weaving into his silky hair. Dick's little moan sends shivers down my spine.

"Love you," he says tenderly, lips brushing over mine.

"Love you, too."

…

 _Dick's POV_

I have a terrible feeling about this. And I just can't shake it. It's been looming over me all night, affecting my mood. I know Jay's starting to get worried about me; I can sense his long, lingering stares. I brush off all his concerns, because I'm pretty sure it's just me feeling this way. Jay would tell me if he thought something was wrong.

That became clear through all the training Bruce forced us through before we were allowed to patrol together. He didn't want us to be liabilities to each other, but to work even better together. And we do. The way Jay and I work together, it's actually a thing of beauty. I charge in, with flips and fast attacks as Jay covers. Then, Jay draws most of the fire – like the tank he is – his body liquid silk as he hits. Hard. Our fighting styles complement each other perfectly. Even Bruce is impressed, though he's probably never admit it.

Jay has very keen instincts. If he thinks something is going to go to shit, it will. It's probably how he's survived his risky lifestyle so long. Of course, even when knowing things aren't going to go his way, he'll still stubbornly continue anyway. Mostly to save others, I know, but he still worries me sometimes. I use this to try convince myself that I'm being silly. If Jay doesn't think anything is wrongs, things are probably fine.

The case we're working on is a sad one, to say the least. Human trafficking. Jay, through sources I'd really rather not know about, heard whisperings of a new human trafficking ring. Dami offered to go undercover, which Bruce strongly vetoed. So Batman and Robin are doing the standard patrol while Jay and I check out the rumours. A case like this is always awful, maybe that's the cause of my bad feeling?

Flying through Gotham is always breath-taking. I'll freely admit to being addicted to the rush of adrenalin, the wind on my face, the tug and stretch of muscles. It's even better flying with someone who can keep up. Jay leads, form gliding through the air. He's beautiful when he flies. I should be paying attention to what I'm doing; mistakes are dangerous. But I can't help it. I also can't help my grin. Forcing away all negatives, I just let myself live.

Too soon, we're landing, Jay's raised fist telling me to stop. We peer at the seemingly empty, dilapidated warehouse. It's always a warehouse. Sticking silently to the shadows, we enter the building from a broken window. I let Jay lead. We head down a dim hallway, following noises of faint laughter and even fainter sobs. His fingers brush over my arm before he turns the corner. And freezes so suddenly I almost bump into him.

Nothing had prepared us for the sight that greeted us.

All of the children were scared. Stuck in filthy cages, covered in who-knows-what, that were much too small for the amount of kids they held. The children were separated by gender, girls on one side of the warehouse and boys on the other. They stifled their crying, trying not to make too much sound. Some boys and girls stretched their arms through the bars, reaching for siblings and friends. I lift my hand to my mouth, smothering my gasp. Jay's whole body is tense, hands firmly clenched. He's not wearing his helmet, so I can see the tight line of his mouth and drawn down brows. I can hear the scrape of his gritted teeth.

Knowing that we were seconds from a massacre, I grip his upper arm. Jay looks at me, his fury clear even through the domino mask. Shaking my head softly, I gesture that he should take care of the kids. He'd never harm them. The same couldn't be said for the monsters that kidnapped them. Jay strictly uses rubber bullets now, but I know for a fact that he's got at least three _very_ sharp knives on him. Not that he actually needs weapons to kill someone. He can effectively do that with his bare hands.

He's reluctant, but he agrees to stay behind. Thank god for that. He wouldn't resist killing them, and even I'm not sure I'd try to stop him. Moving swiftly through the warehouse, I see a lit doorway. It's where the loud, obnoxious laughter is coming from. I can hear them speaking, bragging over the amount of money they'd get for selling these children. Pungent alcohol fills the air the closer I get. From the voices, I estimate there to be three males and two females inside, all drunk. Stupid.

Bursting into the room, I focus on the two armed men. Kicking the guns out of their hands, I knock them out quickly with blows to the temples. The third man was a little harder, having stumbled into the corner, holding a chair to try make me back off. With a smooth leap, my foot connects with his jaw. He collapses, and a quick zap with my taser finishes him off. The women attempt to run. Catapulting myself, my knees impact heavily onto one woman's shoulders, pushing her into a painful encounter with the ground. Out cold. Turning my motion into a roll, I find my feet and pounce on the other. Forehead, meet wall.

With practiced motions, I restrain the unconscious thugs. Reaching for my comm. I fill Bruce in before calling the police. Heading back into the main room of the warehouse, I'm once again stunned. Instead of crying, is that… singing?

Like a ghost, I creep back in, and am floored. There's Jason, sitting surrounded by sleeping, ragged children. His mouth is open, and his voice… Since when has he been able to sing like that? It's angelic. The rough baritone of his speaking voice didn't give a hint about how well he could actually sing. It's so smooth, so gentle. Jason doesn't notice me, lost in the song.

"But Baby I've been here before  
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
But love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

"Really?" I interrupt, though it kills me to do so. The police won't be far away now. " _Hallelujah_?"

Jason startles, looking at me with a small smile before standing. "I like it. It's good that you interrupted me though, the next verse isn't really kid appropriate." His smile grows, gaining a smirking edge. He seems calmer, certainly not the murderous rage of earlier. That's just like him, trying to joke through the darkest situations.

"Is that all you sang to them? I was gone for a while."

"Nah, I started with the Brother Bear soundtrack," there's a definite laughing tone to his voice now. "Who knew all those animated movies you forced on me would come in handy."

"Your voice is incredible," I say softly. He blushes slightly, ducking his head. Jay shrugs, self-depreciatingly.

"Not really, it's just something I've always kind of did. Used to really piss my dad off, before he died. Mum liked it."

"Trust me, love, you have a talent. How come I've never heard you sing before?"

He shrugs again, a tiny bit embarrassed. "I don't know, it's not a thing I broadcast."

"I'd love to hear you sing more, hun," I say, stepping closer to him and linking my fingers with his. Jay smiles, small but pleased.

"I'm sure that could be arranged."

It's then that the police arrive. Jay slips away; the police still are wary of the Red Hood, no matter how little killing he's done lately. I talk to Gordon, giving him most of what we know. We're bats, and we aren't in the business of divulging all our information. Then I follow Jay, letting the police handle the thugs and children. But we stay, keeping a close eye, making sure that the children are taken proper care of.

I guess my bad feeling was nothing, after all. Sure, it was worse than what we were expecting. It could've gone _really_ wrong. But, Jay and I? We handled it.

…

 _Author's Note: Big thanks for Nadenshka and Lawlipop9991 for the prompts! I hope you enjoyed. Lyrics from Jeff Buckley's version of 'Hallelujah.' Last chapter, someone asked about a basic timeline._ _So, they've been together for two weeks in the second chapter and three weeks in the first part of the third. Three months in the second part of third and four months in the fourth. Eight months in this chapter. Chapter five just kind of floats somewhere between the fourth and sixth. Sorry for any confusion! I'll try make it more obvious how long they've been together in upcoming chapters._

 _Thanks for all the support! See you next time!_


	7. Blushing like a schoolgirl

**The Real Life Love**

 _Dick's POV_

Jay blushing has got to be one of the most adorable things ever. It's just such a strange thing to see, a big, rough guy like him, blushing like a schoolgirl. Which is probably why it's rare that he does. He usually just owns the embarrassing stuff he does, no shame at all. I can occasionally catch him out, by complimenting him on something he doesn't see as special, like his singing voice. Or by calling him ridiculous nicknames.

I'll admit, trying to get Jay to blush has become a hobby of mine. He's just too cute, alright? It's a game that everyone else has gotten in on. Timbo and Dami are in on it, payback for his merciless teasing of them, I think. Steph's motives are similar to mine and Babs just loves to tease everyone. Cass's motives, as always, are unknown. Bruce tries to ignore the game, but I know how he's secretly pleased how close all of us are getting. He always gets chuffed when we act like more of a family. We haven't gotten Alfred in on it, which is a shame, seeing as he probably has the most ammunition to embarrass Jay with tales from his youth. We all covertly agree that Jay is actually Alfred's favourite. He'd happily bring up all manners of humiliating stuff about any of us, even Bruce, but not Jay.

So far, I've found two nicknames that really make Jay's face burn. The first time, I was so surprised at how red his face got. I'd never seen him blush like that. My heart almost exploded. We're heading to the Manor, as Bruce wants us to have dinner as a family. Jay's driving, going way too fast. My hands are white, I'm gripping my seat so hard.

"Hey, shnookums, do you think you slow down?"

"No can do, honeycakes," he replies, cocky grin full blown as he rolls his eyes. Luckily, we're pretty close to the Manor now, and the road is deserted. Or maybe not so lucky, as the empty road seems to give Jay the idea that speed limits are more like friendly suggestions. The man has a bloody death wish. Sometimes, I really want to beg Bruce to take the Lamborghini he gifted Jay with back. It is a pretty car, though. Painted a custom forest green, it was one of Jay's favourite things. It got him away for motorbikes for a while. And if you think he's a dangerous driver in a car, you haven't seen him on a bike.

"C'mon, puppydog, at least 10 mph less. I'd rather get there in one piece." The silly pet names have become our thing, starting from my attempts to get him to blush. I'm just trying out heaps of things until I can settle on one.

"We're already here, kitkat," Jay replies, slowing as he enters the gate. "Can we stop with the stupid name thing, though? We get called adorable too much as it is."

"Absolutely not, sugar-cookie," I reply cheerily, taking his hand as we walk to the door. And that's when it happened. Jay's face went a brilliant fuchsia, hand tightening on mine. Oh, my goodness.

 _Jay's POV_

Okay, how the hell did he know? There was no way he could know! My mother had two nicknames for me as a child: bluejay and sugar-cookie. How'd he manage to guess _sugar-cookie?!_ What is this?!

Sugar-cookie is a name from when I was really young. I loved the soft and sugary sweets, and memories of those stupid cookies is some of the few good ones I have of my childhood. Catherine, when enough money was saved, would buy packages of the mix-up sugar cookie dough. They had been one of the few unnecessary things that Willis would allow her to buy. She always baked them perfectly, soft and fluffy. Mum would call me sugar-cookie a lot, but never when Willis was around. It was like our little thing.

Dick's pulled us to a stop, staring at me with wonder. I rub my face, as if that would help get rid of the blush. It didn't.

"Jay? Do you like that one?" Dick asks, looking like he was seconds from bursting into giggles. Don't answer that, Jason. It's going to be impossible to get him to drop it as it is.

"Let's just go inside," I mutter, forcibly taking Dick with me to the door. Alfred will save me, I'm sure. And he did, efficiently getting us inside and in the sitting room, distracting Dick. Now I just have to pray that he forgets. But I've never been lucky, and I really should've known that Dick would never forget something like this. It was at during dinner this time, and Dick and I were sitting across from one another.

"Sugar-cookie, could you pass the peas, please?" I do it before even thinking, automatically responding to the name. Then, there was silence around the table, all eyes on my growing blush and Dick's shit-eating grin. Bruce raised an eyebrow, face otherwise stoic. He wasn't fooling anyone. We could all see the amusement twinkling in his eyes. Tim and Damian stare at me, then Dick, then me again, before looking at each other. Their growing smirks were downright evil. Shit. The girls break the silence with small giggles.

"Sugar-cookie?" Steph gasps. "That's what Dick calls you?"

"Just discovered it today," Dick announces proudly. "Said it randomly, but with a reaction like that, I'm going to roll with it." I throw a dinner roll at him, embarrassed. God, now everyone is going to call me that. This is just what I need. I'm a killer, dammit! I don't know whether to be pissed or grateful that they've all seemed to have forgotten that. Nonetheless, they should fear me!

No one can fear a man nicknamed _sugar-cookie._

"Naw, little sugar-cookie is embarrassed," Tim teases in a sickly sweet voice. I raise my favourite knife. Even in the Manor, it's best to always be armed. Even if it's just for threatening annoying brothers.

"I will gut you, Replacement."

He laughs, grin wide. "I find that hard to believe when you're as red as a tomato." Just as I begin to throw the knife, Bruce catches my wrist. About to complain, he interrupts me. At least with the anger, my blush has started to fade.

"Enough, Tim, Jason. No weapons at the dinner table," Bruce's voice, goes from stern to subtly mischievous. "I thought I'd taught you better than that years ago, bluejay."

Then my blush comes back, full force. What the fuck?! I knew I had terrible luck, but this? I mean, shit. Both of my childhood nicknames discovered in the same day? Jeez. I would wish the ground would swallow me up, but I know what that's like. I just wish a tornado appeared instead, taking me away forever.

Dick's eyes, which had remained glued to my face, widens. His face fills with a gentle kind of delight. He would be enjoying this, the bastard. Even Bruce seems surprised by my reaction. To save as much face as I can, I stand, leaving the room swiftly. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, but I just walk. I go to the library, my favourite place in the Manor. Only Dick knows that, and probably Alfred.

Bluejay had started when I was a little older. After Willis had died, mum would say how I was her source of happiness. That she still had her little Jay, her bluejay. She'd mumble it, even during a drug-induced stupor. It helped make me feel better, meant that she hadn't forgotten me. That she knew I was still there, beside her. On her good days, Catherine would run her fingers through my hair, like a mother bird preening her fledgling.

Falling into a comfy, but chilly leather armchair, I rest my face in my hands. In some ways, I didn't want to remember all this. It was painful. But then, I need these memories of my mother. She had her faults, lord knows, but she tried to be a good mother to me. Even though I wasn't actual her son. I was her son, and she my mother, in all the ways that matter. I wasn't upset by being called these names. To say I didn't like it would be a massive lie. The names still brought the same rush of warmth as they did when I was young. Dick calling me sugar-cookie, Bruce calling me bluejay, felt right, in a strange way. Maybe that's why I blush.

The door creaks open, light foot-steps hesitant. Dick. He slowly makes his way towards me, before resting his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he says, quietly. "I'll stop, if it bothers you so much."

I shake my head, lifting it out of my hands. Dick looks at me, concerned and loving. I try to smile, to reassure him.

"It doesn't bother me. I like the nicknames, I do. It's what… it's what my mum would call me when I was little. Sugar-cookie."

"Oh." Dick crouches in front of me, meeting my eyes. "So I can call you that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Dick beams at me, smile blinding. "Because if I couldn't, I'd get sad, never seeing you blush like that again. You don't realise how cute you are when you blush."

I roll my eyes, but let him pull me in for a kiss.

Thus started my nicknames. I guess it was only fair; I call Dick Pidge, and I know he gets teased about that. Difference was, I blushed every time. Every. Single. Time. I never got used to being called sugar-cookie. Dick loves that, I know he does. He's a cruel man. No one ever believes me about that, though. Tim and Damian call me sugar-cookie sometimes, trying to get a rise out of me. Can't lie, it works. Before long, I'll be chasing after them, knife in hand. Bruce, not often, but more than he'd care to admit, starts calling me bluejay. Usually when I'd least expect it.

Dick doesn't think I know about the Let's-See-How-Embarrassed-We-Can-Get-Jay game. I know, and I know that all of them are in on it. Even Bruce. Only Alfred is safe during family gatherings. He's like a guardian angel to me. When everyone starts playing that stupid game, Alfred protects me. He also gives me a chance to let the blood drain from my face. My cooking skills improve, to Dick's satisfaction. It's like a win-win for him.

Lord help me if I don't love that idiot, though.

…

 _Author's note: What's this? Two chapters in 24 hours? Lucky you guys. Hope you enjoyed this super fluffy chapter! It takes place after they've been dating for about two months. Thanks, Lawli, again! See ya next time!_


	8. I got an elephant

**The Real Life Love**

 _Jay's POV_

It's a cold night, but I feel completely safe and warm, basking in the afterglow with Dick still lightly panting beside me. Or, I would be basking, if Dick's fingers weren't slowly and gently moving over my tattoos. I'm never going to tell him I'm slightly ticklish. Never. He'd make me regret it so bad. So I bury my face into my pillow, trying not to squirm or giggle.

Dick is a big fan of the tattoos, much to his own surprise. He, like Bruce, thinks tattoos are a bad idea. If someone happened to see both Jay Peters' and the Red Hood's bare arms or back, they'd be able to identify me, with proof. I think the risk makes it more exciting. They do not share that opinion. Bruce's disapproval is heavy and obvious, whenever I mention my tattoos. He even booked me in to get them removed. Without telling me beforehand. Asking me to have lunch with him, but taking me to the clinic instead, was not a classy move. Way to mess with my already extensive trust issues, dad.

I remember Dick's surprise at first seeing the dark swirls over my upper arms, shoulders and back. It was when I had first moved in with him, and he had to change the bandaging over my bullet wound. If I could've taken a photo of his shocked face, I would've. He was mad at first, saying that I had a stupid tendency to _beg_ for trouble. I'm a trouble magnet, always have been. I'm not about to deny that. He also accused Roy of being a bad influence, due to his own tattoos. Which I couldn't help but laugh at. If anyone's a bad influence, it's me. He didn't encourage me to get them but he did support the decision.

Eventually, Dick grew to love them. I think he started to understand that my tattoos were a part of me, an expression of me. I felt such freedom when I had them done. It doesn't all have meaning, most of the tattoos covering my shoulders and back are geometric patterns and smooth curves, done in deep blacks and reds. Some do mean things, like the bouquets of magenta peonies on both of my upper arms. The flowers were my mother's favourite. And the five robins, of various sizes, flying across my shoulder blades.

And it wasn't as if it was displeasing to the eye. Most of the tattoos were symmetrical on either side of my body, one side with the opposite pattern as the other. The only exception to that are the robins, which are a bit separate from the other tattoos, spread out in relatively blank space on my back. Some parts were graceful and elegant, others harsh and stark against my pale skin. My scars make up part of the pattern. I didn't get the tattoos to hide them. I never let someone who wasn't an expert get a needle anywhere close to my skin. It was expensive, for sure, but all of my tattoos are masterfully crafted.

Dick, breathing now under control, presses soft kisses into the ink on my shoulder, tongue fondly tracing. I relax into the touch. His mouth doesn't make me feel like I'm about to burst into laughter like his light touches do. I let out a quiet moan, before feeling him shift, mouth travelling across my back. Then he smiles. I'm not sure, but it feels like his I'm-up-to-no-good smile. Or his sinful smile. It's hard to tell just from his lips on my skin.

"You're so sexy, Jay," he purrs, lowly. Yup, definitely up to no good. But I can't figure up what he's up to. I also can't help my snort.

"I know, Pidge, I'm pretty sexy, normally. But this is coming from Dick-Fucking-Grayson. Who has, more than once, been voted the sexiest man in the Gotham."

Dick stages a surprised gasp, tugging on my hair until I turn my face to him. "I haven't won it as often as Bruce has," he explains, as if that's in his defence.

"Bruce has lived longer."

"Besides," Dick continues, elegantly ignoring me, "I'm plenty handsome, sure, but I'm not as sexy as you." I raise an eyebrow. Yeah, sure. I'm buying that. Because I was only born yesterday. I don't care what he says, nothing about me can compare to that ass of his. I know better than to say that, though. His butt's usually the first thing people compliment him about, and I know how sick he is of that. Nonetheless, he smacks me on the head. Apparently, the eyebrow was sass enough for him.

"I'm serious, Jay. Everything about you, from your height, your muscles, the messy hair, the tattoos, even the permanent little smirk you have and the barely disguised fact that you have deadly skills. It all adds up into this dangerous, rugged and manly kind of sexiness that I could never compete with." Dick stares at me, face the picture of sincerity. But I know him too well. I see that sneakiness lurking in his sapphire eyes. Smothering my chuckles, I kiss the tip of his nose.

"Very convincing, Pidge. But we both know you're the better looking one. I'm not good with expressing my feelings, baby, you know that. Just know that I think you are the sexiest person that I've ever met. So we'll just be good-looking together, okay?"

Dick laughs, loud and bright. He nods, still laughing, "Okay." He settles beside me, snuggling into my side. One arm spreads over my back and he uses my own outstretched arm as a pillow. After a while, Dick seemingly asleep, I begin to drift as well. Then, he startles me almost awake when he whispers into my skin.

"It's the bad-boy thing as well, I think. I don't have that. I'm the golden boy, as you've always said."

"Wataryaonabowt?" I mumble, only about half-awake. He chortles, staring into my half-lidded eyes.

"You're a total bad-boy. You pretty much wrote the book on being rebellious."

"That's not true," I say, trying to force my brain to start working. "I could follow orders most of the time."

"Yeah, as Robin, you could. As Jason, you had to do the opposite of what anyone told you. You were an adorable brat, though. But don't think I haven't noticed your influence on Timmers and Dami. Bruce is getting increasingly frustrated with their new cursing and sass habits."

That wakes me up and I laugh into my pillow. "Serves him right. Timbo is freakishly well behaved for a teenager. And Dames needs to put Bruce in his place sometimes. He's twelve, he's allowed to be childish."

"Shush, Jay. Bruce isn't going to be pleased when he realises it's your fault," Dick says, trying for reproachful but sounding more amused.

"Bruce doesn't scare me. Did I tell you that I've almost convinced Tim to get a tattoo? He was pretty uncertain at first, but I think he's starting to like the idea."

"Yes, I did hear that," he definitely sounds reproachful now. "And you shouldn't be doing that."

"Why not? Think little Baby Bird can't handle the pain?"

He snorts now, rolling his eyes at me. "He can handle anything you can, and besides, tattoos don't hurt _that_ much."

What was that? I lift myself up onto my elbows, eyes narrow in suspicion as I stare at him. "I know that, but how do _you_ know that?"

And he blushes. Not just a light little blush, either; his face flames. His whole body cringes, screaming embarrassment.

"Umm, that's just what everyone always says," he mutters into the pillow as he tries to hide his face.

"Uh huh, yeah, I'm not buying that," I say, flipping him over and gripping his chin, making him meet my eyes. "Richard John Grayson, do you have a tattoo?"

Impossibly, his already crimson face darkens. Oh, this is just too good to be true. Not only does the perfect son Dick have a tattoo, but it's a super embarrassing one, given his reaction.

"No," he says weakly, looking away.

"You _do,"_ I reply, fabricating a high, scandalised voice. "Whatever would your father say?"

Dick just grumbles at me, pushing at my face as I fold over with laughter. He twists out of my arms using his freaky flexibility, shoving his face back into the pillow. Maybe I should lay off a bit, he seems pretty flustered. Which is odd for him, he's very much a guy who takes everything in his stride. It's probably time I start acting like a good, caring boyfriend and stop teasing him. To hell with it, if he wanted a boyfriend that wouldn't mess with him when he does stupid shit, the last thing he should've done was date me.

I don't want him mad at me, though. Angry Dick is the worst. People find it hard to believe that someone as put together, strong and joyful as Dick could be so whiny when he's pissed, but it's true. He's an actual hot mess sometimes, when he's mad at the dumb stuff I've done.

So, I suck it up. Wrapping my arms around him, cuddling him close, I apologise into his hair. "Sorry, Pidge. Shouldn't've laughed at ya. Love you." He's stiff at first, but finally relaxes when I say 'love you.' That always works.

"Love you, too, you big jerk," he replies, before pausing. "I want to be the big spoon."

Sighing, I roll over. Dick eagerly drapes himself over me, legs tangling with mine. I'm not quite ready to drop the tattoo thing, but giving him what he wants will make him more likely to talk about it.

"So, where is this tattoo?" Dick tenses, then grumbles into my hair, pinching my belly. Ouch. But I ain't about to let it go. No matter how much his pinches hurt.

"Why'd ya get it? And why haven't I seen it?"

"Jay," Dick warns. I carry on unhindered.

"How come no one knows about it? How do you hide it? Surely I would've found it by now? Is it a tramp stamp? Wh–"

"Jason! Fine! I got drunk one time with Wally when I was nineteen. We thought that getting a tattoo would be a brilliant idea. I got an elephant, it's on the back of my thigh, below my butt. I hate it, it's nowhere near as good as any of yours. I'm always really careful to put waterproof make-up over it, because I don't want anyone to know. I've been thinking of getting it removed, but always forget about getting around to it." All of this is delivered in a resigned tone, except for the exclamation at the beginning. I've never heard him like this before.

"Wait, you got a drunk tattoo of Dumbo on your butt?" I try to hold back my mirth, I really do.

"It was below my butt! And it wasn't Dumbo, it was meant to be Zitka, the elephant from when I was in the circus. It looks nothing like her though."

"Can I see it?" I ask, knowing it's a long shot.

"No," he answers, tightening his arms around me so I can't move to force him to show me. "Go to sleep."

I put my head down. "Please?" I try for the last time.

"No. I'm getting it removed tomorrow," he says decisively.

"Aw, that's a shame," I tease gently. He growls at me, which is usually my thing. Kind of hot. Now I know why he gives me an odd look whenever I do it. "I can take you to a professional. Get you a better elephant."

He pauses for a beat. "Maybe," he says so quietly I might've imagined it. "Sleep now."

Fine. I'll just wait for him to go to sleep.

He should get it removed. It's goddamn awful.

…

 _Author's note: I have no excuses for this. I just thought it would be hilarious if Dick had a drunk tattoo. And I've always kind of head-canoned that Jay would have tattoos. The pink glowy things on his chest when he meditates don't really count._

 _Anyway, I think this would be at about nine months of dating. Dick's really good at hiding the tattoo; he's been doing it for years._

 _Thanks for the support! Please comment, let me know what you think!_

 _Katy_


	9. Yet here he is

**The Real Life Love**

 _Dick's POV_

I knew Jay was up to something as soon as I woke up. Because he is still beside me. And it wasn't early. In fact, it was my alarm clock that woke me. Yet here he is. Jay's an early riser, which baffles the hell out of me. Considering that we patrol until the early hours of the morning, I have no freaking idea how he manages to drag himself out of bed before seven. I suppose he takes naps during the day, in between reading and working on cases. Jay is always up and about before my alarm goes off at quarter past seven. In fact, he usually has my morning coffee ready for me when I force myself to get up at seven thirty.

Sometimes I hate that he's out getting the worm while I sleep. There's not much more I enjoy than morning cuddles. But Jay says that lounging in bed in the mornings makes him feel lazy. I have a suspicion that he goes out for runs in the early morning. Freak. I kind of wish that Jay would sleep in more often. But then, there would be no coffee or breakfast prepared for me. Which would suck.

Yet here he is. Fully conscious, staring at me with a gentle smile. Was he watching me sleep? Cute! I'm so glad it's not just me that does stuff like that. Yawning, I curl up into his side as he reaches over to hit my alarm clock. He kisses the top of my head, before settling again. We've been dating ten months now, and except for the first month when he was recovering from the bullet that almost killed him, I can count the number of times I've woken with him still in bed on one hand. Which makes this very suspicious.

I just can't manage to care, though. Not when I get morning snuggles. Jay obliges, letting me get as close to him as possible. He's just so _warm._ I don't know if it's his large size or whatever, but Jay runs hot. Not just in looks, though I'm sure I've made it clear to pretty much everyone just how attractive I find him.

"Time to get up, Pidge," Jay says, seeing that the time is seven thirty. Grumbling, I bury my face in his neck. I want to stay here forever. Jay chuckles, the sound rough and sexy, before sliding out from under me. I attempt to keep him still, but somehow, he manages to escape my clutches. His pillow is a sad replacement for him, but it will have to do.

"Come get me when breakfast's ready," I mumble, before realising how douchey that sounds. I really shouldn't be taking advantage of him like this. I'm lucky to have an awesome boyfriend that doesn't mind making breakfast for me. But Jay just laughs again.

"It already is, babe. I made it, then snuck back into bed before you woke up." Was there ever a time I didn't love this man? If there was, I was being an idiot. As sweet as a gesture this is, though, it means that I have no excuse or staying in bed. Sighing, I pull myself out and follow him to the kitchen. True enough, Jay pulls a plate of pancakes out of the oven where they were being kept warm. Chocolate chip, my favourite. But again, this lets me know that Jay's up to something. His favourite is blueberry, and he's slightly reproving of me over-doing the sugar.

Pouring myself a coffee – Jay had switched the keep warm button on the coffee maker – I eye him suspiciously. He's got an innocent look on his face. Which, really, just confirms that he wants something. The man _never_ looks that innocent, no matter what he's doing. He makes brushing teeth seem sexy and sinful. I need this coffee before I can deal with this. Jay keeps a carefully neutral face as I pour cream and sugar into my coffee, but I can see him itching to tell me off for it. This is kind of fun, actually.

As we sit down, I start digging into the pancakes. Excellent, like everything Jay cooks. I really am going to get fat with a boyfriend so good at cooking. Jay smiles, knee bouncing nervously as he more slowly starts eating his own pancakes.

"So," I begin, smirking a little, "Why are you buttering me up with cuddles and delicious pancakes?"

He glances away, cheeks slightly pink. "I can be nice one day of the year," he replies. Oh yeah, I'm not buying that for a minute. He's a bad-boy, but he's also an incredible ball of mush. A strange contradiction, but I can't complain when he makes pancakes. And bakes cookies. And cooks lasagne to _die_ for. To me, and his family, he can be nice every day of the year. Sometimes he just chooses not to, pulling pranks and teasing mercilessly. Fortunately, these days, the pranks are mostly aimed at Bruce, Tim and Damian. Unfortunately, the only one safe from his teasing are Alfred. Even Cass, which she only tolerates because she's so happy he's not killing anyone anymore. Most of the time.

So I just snort, raising a brow at him. "Just tell me, Jay. I've noticed that you always feed me pancakes when you want something, so just ask. Better be quick, though, I've got to get to work soon."

"It's just, well… I'm a bit lonely when you go to work. I know, sometimes Roy and Lian visits, or I go see them, or various family members come over. But, that's not every day. I was used to being alone, before I moved in with you. I was used to feeling lonely."

On one hand, I want to hug him. On the other, I want to tease him. Two conflicting wants. For some inexplicable reason, I decide to tease him. "So, you want me to set you up with playdates?"

I expect him to sass me back, as good as he got it, like always. Instead, his cheeks get a little pinker, utterly mystifying me. "Well, kinda," he admits quietly.

I almost choke the coffee I'd stupidly decided to sip at that moment. "Wh-what?" I gasp, after getting my breathing under control. Finally, he meets my eyes, teal orbs determined.

"I want a dog."

Laughing gently, I get up, walking over to him. I cup his face in my hands, bending down to kiss him. "You could have just said that. Didn't need the theatrics. But we live in an apartment; we can't have pets."

Jay grins, sly and triumphant. "Actually, the landlord said we could."

"Really?"

"All it took was a batch of chocolate chip cookies and a Belgium slice." Of course, Jay had charmed poor Mrs Keets with his smile and madly good baking. A man that can kill with his bare hands effortlessly shouldn't be so good at baking. But now I had no reasons to not get a dog. He had me.

"Jay, look, I really have to go to work. Can we talk about this later?" He smiles and nods, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. Dammit, I never want to be the reason for that look.

…

Which is why, that Saturday, Jay's driving to an animal shelter in Red Hood's territory. I'd given in to his demands of a dog, and started to research breeders before Jay scoffed at me. _Puppies from breeders always find homes_ , he said. _Rescued dogs need homes_. Couldn't argue with that.

Excitement buzzed in every part of Jay's body. He just couldn't keep still. He's practically bouncing in his seat. Which was utterly adorable. He'd spent the past couple of days buying toys, treats and other things for the dog. Even a collar, and I knew from that that he was expecting to adopt a big dog. I tried to not be nervous about that.

And it isn't like I'm not excited either. I had a smile that I just couldn't wipe off. Part of it's how happy Jay is. Another part was simply about getting a dog. Some people say I never really grew up. I guess it's kind of true; what boy doesn't want a dog?

But probably the biggest cause for my joy is how big of a step this is in our relationship. We live together, and now we're getting a pet together. It started leading me to more scary future thoughts. Jay wants us to get a dog. That means he doesn't see us breaking up. And therefore, there's a chance that we never do. That we get married, live in a house, and adopt kids. The fact that Jay and I have a future together, and that he thinks so, too, fills me which such joy I can't express in words.

After we arrive at the animal shelter, Jay takes my hand. He walks fast, even compared to his usual ground-eating stride. He's such a little kid sometimes.

We approach the counter, the girl behind it smiling in recognition when she sees Jay. Interesting. Not liking the spike of jealousy, I try to shake free of it. I try tell myself I don't care about who Jay's dated, if he dated this girl. That he's with me now. But I guess I can be pretty damn possessive. Before I can ask how they know each other, the girl greets us.

"Hi there!" Her smile is wide and genuine, and I feel a little bad about my initial resentment.

"Hey, Claire," Jay responds, his grip on my hand tightening and pulling me closer to him. "This is my boyfriend, Dick. We're here to adopt a dog." Remembering my manners, I smile in greeting to her. She looks a little shocked. But I don't think it's directed at me, since she's blinking at Jay.

"Adopt? I thought you couldn't? Which is why you donate so much to us?" Wait a minute. Jay donates money to the shelter? And a significant amount, too. How come he's never told me?

Jay's smile grows, bouncing on his toes. "Yeah, I'm finally in a situation where I can. Dick and I are very excited." True that.

Claire gets over her surprise, smiling happily again. "That's great. I'd love to show you the dogs we have. This way," she says, leading us to the back.

"You donate?" I whisper to Jay, quiet enough so Claire couldn't hear.

"Uh, yeah," he replies, trying for nonchalant and failing. "You know when I said I had no money? I kind of lied. But all the money I make pretty much goes straight to all the animal shelters and orphanages in my territory." Wow. I had no idea. Who knew Jay was such a philanthropist?

"How do you make money?"

"Well, you know how I took over Gotham's drug trade? I never really stepped down. I put my most trusted lieutenant in charge, one that actually does have some kind of morals. He keeps my rules, and he also gives me a cut. I donate all of that."

Probably should've guessed that. Say what you want, but some of the crime in Gotham did calm down a bit with Jay in charge of the drug trade. And even when he stepped away, that didn't change. I was trained by the world's greatest detective, I should've guessed that Jay left someone capable in charge, rather than let different gangs war for control.

"You're amazing," I tell him, because it's true. He shakes his head slightly, but the smile never wavers.

"These are our kennels," Claire announces, pushing open a yellow door with black paw prints painted on it. There were barks and yowls as we entered. Jay lets go of my hand and drifts down, peering at each dog. I stand back and let him choose. The dog will be ours, but I knew Jay would be spending more time with him/her. Claire and I watch, amused, at the way Jay behaves around the dogs, cooing and talking to them.

But then he stops and stares at one kennel. Crouching, he pushes his fingers through the wire door, speaking gently to the dog inside. "Here, girl. That's it, sweetie." He chuckles lightly when a pink tongue starts licking his fingers.

"This is the one," he calls to me. Claire gasps beside me, eyes tearing up.

"Is that Joan?" She asks, as we approach Jay and his chosen dog. Finally, I get a good look at her. She is a big dog, standing slightly taller than a Labrador but having a more graceful and slightly more slender frame. She was mostly dark brown, but had a patch on white on her chest and all her toes. She has small, floppy ears like a lab. Her eyes are large, gentle and chocolate brown. She looks like the sweetest thing, and she looked at Jay like he is already her whole world. Jay had a similar look, and I could see why he picked her. They seem to have a connection.

Claire's ecstatic at Jay's choice. "We've been trying to find a home for her for ages. She's so loving, but unfortunately, many people thought she looked violent due to her breed. She's a ridgeback cross, and only two years old. It shouldn't have been hard to rehome her, but sadly, no one wanted her. I'd take her myself, but my boyfriend said two dogs are more than we can handle, and we really don't need another one."

"Can we open the kennel?" I ask, really wanting to our new pet.

"Absolutely. Let me get a leash for you, and you can take her outside for a bit."

Claire disappears, returning with a leash, collar attached, which she hands to me before opening the kennel. I quickly clip it on, and after patting her on the head, hand the leash to Jason. He doesn't care about that though, he simply opens his arms to the dog. Joan (I'm not crazy about the name) wags her tail almost shyly, walks over to Jay, giving to quick licks to his face. Jay chuckles, patting her shoulders and rubbing her ears. Standing, taking my hand with one of his and holding the leash in the other, Jay leads us outside.

And all of a sudden, this seems real to me. Having a dog, the responsibility, Jay and I taking walks together through the park while throwing a ball for her. And I wanted that, wanted her, so much. Joan jumps about, tail wagging enthusiastically now, tugging at the leash. Jay lets go, running around and playing with her in the unkempt grass. She's already part of the family. But I'm still not fond of the name.

"She doesn't look like a Joan, does she?" Jay asks, playfully pushing her over as she barks happily.

"No, she doesn't," I reply, glad that he's thinking the same things I am.

Jay hums thoughtfully. "How about Button? Because she's as cute as a button."

"More like because she's going to butt in on all our fun times," I say, and I know I have a dumb grin on my face. Which is confirmed when Jay groans.

"You're the worst," he laughs. "Isn't he, Button?" Button just barks in response, licking at his hands. Still laughing, he rubs her ears again. "Button it is."

And that's how Button joined our family. She is a very welcome addition, and makes being at home better, as she's such a joyful presence. Button's always awake when we come home from patrol, waiting for us. She sleeps on our bed more often than Jay would like, seeing as he bought a nice, expensive dog bed for her. He doesn't know that I encourage her to sleep with us. If I have an opportunity to have one more thing to cuddle with, I'm going to take it. Jay takes her with him when he goes running in the mornings. She becomes my new alarm clock, jumping on me and licking my face when they get back. Which isn't as fun, but Jay finds it amusing.

Jay isn't lonely anymore, and it's true when they say that dog is man's best friend. More often than not, I come home after work and find him sprawled on the couch, her napping on top of him as he reads. She thinks she's a lap dog, and we haven't the heart to tell her she's far too big. But we love Button, and I don't think we could've found a more perfect dog.

…

 _Author's Note: I should be sleeping! Yet, here I am. Button is based off a dog I met when doing work experience at a vet clinic. Her name was Kira. She was a pound dog and had just been adopted. The owner wanted her desexed, and she stayed at the clinic for the whole week I was there because the owner had to dog-proof his property. I had the job of taking her out for walks every day. Kira was one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met, and if I could've, I would've taken her home myself._

 _Thanks for reading, and please comment! Let me know what you think, even it's just to tell me your favourite part or whatever._

 _See ya!_


	10. You're both idiots

**The Real Life Love**

 _Dick's POV_

The night's been painfully normal. So I suppose it was time for something crazy to happen. I'm in the living room, lazily flipping through channels when I really should be working on some paperwork. Procrastination, thy name is Richard. Jay's in the kitchen. I have no idea what he's making, but it smells heavenly. Sometimes, I really am thankful that the man I love spent so much time with Alfred when he was younger. I'm essentially dating a chef. And he also bakes. Button's on the couch with me, head on my thigh as I stroke her ears.

Her head perking up is the first warning, her body tenses as she focuses on the door to the spare bedroom that I converted into a library for Jason's birthday. To say he showed his _appreciation_ would be an understatement. That was a night I'll never forget. Button let's out a low, quiet growl, and then even I can hear the rustling from within the room. I'm not worried, though. The only thing that could break through a bat's security is another bat.

Sure enough, Damian comes strolling in like he owns the place. He certainly does not. His scowl is even angrier than usual, fists clenched. Button jumps up, bark ending in a warning growl. Dami looks shocked to see the dog, and his expression softens. Trust an animal to calm down baby bat.

"Hey, Dames!" I say happily. I'm always happy to see my younger brothers. Unless they're in cock-block mode. Then, they are just plain annoying. In typical Damian behaviour, he ignores me in favour of the dog. Holding out his hand, his body language carefully non-aggressive, he approaches Button. She flicks her eyes to me, as if asking if he's okay. The dog is scarily smart, sometimes.

"Go on," I say to her, voice cheerful and relaxed. Button barks again, but happily this time, bounding over to Dami to lick his hand. He laughs, patting her head. It's always great to see Dami like this; he's so tense all the time. I'm glad there actually is something that can help him relax.

"What's her name?" Dami asks, crouching to allow Button to lick his face. A little gross, but Jay does the same thing. Boys and their dogs, eh.

"Button," Jay replies, leaning against the door frame with a lazy smirk. I didn't notice him there until now. Which is weird; I'm usually very good at sensing when he's in the room. He has this sort of charismatic aura about him that's hard to ignore. I must have been so taken with Dames' rare carefree smile.

"And she's yours, Todd? Where did you get such a marvellous creature?"

"She's mine and Dick's, but yeah, I spend more time with her. We adopted her from an animal shelter."

"You chose well," Dames replies, chuckling when Button flops down on the floor, blissed out in the attention she's receiving.

"Yeah, we did," Jay grins. "I was thinking of bringing her to the Manor. She'd like another canine friend, and Titus is big enough that she can play with him without hurting him. She doesn't quite know her own strength."

"You should. Titus would like that, as well."

Naw, my two little troublemakers are bonding! But then, I remember Damian's face when he walked in, all tight and angry. Something must have happened. And as his big brothers, it is Jay's and my duty to find out what.

"Speaking of the Manor, why are you here and not there?" That's me, first class detective and master of subtlety. But then, Damian's expression shuts down, and he rises to his feet. He looks about to leave. Jay shoots me a hard glance. What's he doing, criticising my brothering? I'm an awesome brother, thank you very much.

"Dames, stay for dinner. I made risotto," Jay says, eyes challenging Damian to refuse. The threat is clear; either stay by choice, or I'll force you to. Funny thing is, Jay actually could. He wouldn't be above tying the littlest Robin to a chair. And as tough and as well trained as Damian is, he actually doesn't really stand a chance against either me or Jay, especially us together. We've got size and experience on him. This seems to dawn on him, and he nods stiffly, following Jay into the kitchen to the table.

"Smells great, Jay," I compliment as I sit down. Damian grunts in agreement. Oh god, maybe Jay and Damian becoming closer is not such a good thing, if he picks up Jay's grunting-instead-of-using-words habits. It really bugs me when he does that.

"Eh, it's nothing," Jay replies with a small shrug, putting a plate down in front of me. I grab his wrist, pulling him down for a quick kiss. I like to show my appreciation for the sweet things my boyfriend does with affection, sue me. Jay does the exact same thing, anyway. Damian fakes a gagging sound, while Jay pulls back with a chuckle.

"Let's not traumatise the child, Pidge, yeah?"

I roll my eyes, "Dames can grow up; this is what people in loving relationships do." Jay just shakes his head fondly. I take the opportunity of him turning his back to lightly smack his ass. Damian looks physically pained. Haha, I can kind of see why Jay likes to tease him so much, it is kind of fun.

Jay hands another plate to Damian, quickly covering his pointed question. "Yes, baby bat, there is no meat in it, I promise." Damian nods, relieved. I look down at my own meal, a little disappointed. I like my meat. Jay gives me a dry look.

"There's chicken in yours, hun. Don't worry." Thank goodness. "I always make a little extra that's vegetarian, in case Dames shows up."

What? I didn't know that. Is that why there's suspiciously leftovers all the time, even when I'm sure we both ate enough to feed a small army? Damian looks a little flattered, but doesn't comment. We tuck in and damn me, it's delicious.

"So, you gonna tell us what Bruce did?" Jay asks Dami, out of nowhere. And he was giving _me_ a look before. Dami frowns, staring intensely at his plate as he stirs rice around. Seems that the answer is no, Damian is _not_ going to tell us what Bruce did. But what kind of big brothers would we be if we didn't pry for all we're worth?

"C'mon, kiddo, just tell us so we can kick Bruce's ass for you," Jay continues, eyebrows waggling in that up-to-no-good way of his. Damian's lip curls upward, unwillingly.

"Yeah, Dames, you know we're not going to let this go until you tell us."

The twelve year-old sighs, lowering his fork to the table. He doesn't meet our eyes, but at least he's about to talk. "It's stupid," he says, as if that matters. Jay and I just look at him expectantly until he sighs again.

"I wanted to go to an art exhibition Saturday night, but Father said that he was too busy working on a case. I don't think he was even really listening to me. And he never lets me go anywhere on my own unless it's school. I don't think he trusts me at all. I was so angry, that I yelled at him and said that I hated him before going to my room. I snuck out the window, then came here. I don't think he's even noticed I left."

Jay, as the story continued, has clenched his fists tighter and tighter. "You're both idiots," he declares, voice quietly furious. Damian looks shocked, expecting Jay to immediately take his side over Bruce's. To be honest, so did I.

"Never, ever say you hate someone when you don't mean it, Damian," Jay says, voice firm. "You never know what will be the last thing you'll say to someone is, and I'd hate for it to be such an atrocious lie."

Damian looks down again, shame-faced. Oh, Damian. Sometimes it's so easy to forget how young he actually is. We all know he didn't mean it. He's just so young and Bruce is such an idiot. Jay stands, grabbing his leather jacket.

"C'mon, we're going to fix this." Damian and I follow him as he gets his keys and we head out in silence. Once in the car, my phone goes off. Speak of the devil, and all that, as 'Bruce' flashes over my screen.

"Yes, we have him," I say in way of greeting. I hear Bruce's quiet sigh of relief.

"Can he stay with you tonight?" Stupid, stupid Bruce.

"No, Bruce, we're bringing him to the Manor. You are going to talk this out. You can't keep ignoring a problem thinking it will go away, because it doesn't work like that. See you soon." I hang up before letting him speak. Jay's hands clench on the wheel and Dami sulks in the back. We took my audi, not Jay's lambo. We have to pay for extra parking spots in our apartment building for our cars and bikes, but it's worth it.

It's not too long before we arrive, and Jason storms through the front door, pushing past an unruffled Alfred. He quickly apologises (you don't behave rudely to Alfred) before marching Damian to Bruce's office. I follow along, content to let Jay sort this out. Bruce's and Jay's relationship has improved drastically in the eleven months Jay and I have been dating. Not that I'm taking credit for it, or anything. But one thing Jay gets passionate about is Damian's relationship with Bruce. He doesn't want to see Bruce making the same mistakes with Dami as he did with him.

"Bruce, dammit, talk to your son!" Bruce looks up from his desk, surprised as Jay drags an unwilling Dami into the room. Damian doesn't look up. I shut the door, on the off chance Tim or Cass or Steph are sleeping or working upstairs. Wouldn't want to disturb anyone with what will probably end in shouting. "If he wants to go somewhere other than school, the Manor and patrol, you should bloody well let him! You're always going on about how Damian hasn't quite adjusted to living here, yet, but how do you expect him to when you never let him?"

"And Damian, apologise to your father! You can't be saying that you hate him. You shouldn't be so disrespectful to him unless he really, really deserves it, and trust me, he hasn't been that bad to you."

Bruce blinks at Jay, before looking to Damian. He stands, approaching Damian slowly. Reaching up to grip his shoulder, Bruce forces his youngest son to look at him. "Damian, I haven't been very considerate to you. I expected you to behave like other boys your age, but never let you learn how. I'm sorry for that."

Damian, serious little face frowning like usual, mumbles. "I apologise, Father. I shouldn't have said I hated you. I didn't mean it."

"I think a hug is in order here," I say, piping up for the first time since arriving. Jay smirks at me as Dami glares. But then his eyes widen in shock, as Bruce pulls him into a hug. Damian slowly relaxes into it, until he's gripping Bruce tight. Yay, score one for the JayDick fix-it team!

Jay takes my hand, pulling me from the room when all I want to do is throw myself into the hug, too. I do love my cuddles. Jay knows better, though, than to let me. This is a moment for Bruce and Damian, not me. Gently kissing the back of my hand, he smiles before taking us home.

…

 _Jay's POV_

Maybe this was a dumb idea. I think it looks pretty good, but what if Dick disagrees? I'd have to deal with his pouting _forever._ Or, at least, until it grows back. But, hey, it's too late now. It's not like I can just stick the hair back on. Self-consciously rubbing the closely cut hair on the back of my head, I walk into the family room in the Manor, where everyone's gathering for the bimonthly movie night. Dick's not here yet, but Dames, Timbo, Cass, Babs, Steph and Bruce are.

At first they call out greetings, not noticing my stylish new haircut. Until Bruce says, voice uncharacteristically stunned, "What have you done to your hair?"

Everyone's eyes shoot straight to me, and I'll admit, I must be quite a sight. The plain white tank top does nothing to hide my tattoos, and my low-slung jeans and bare feet no doubt make me look a bit of a mess. I was feeling lazy today, alright? And now, I'm sporting an undercut, the hair on the sides and back of my head shorn short, with the top and front longer. My hair is still dark brown, with its white streak, but is pushed back and up from my forehead instead of falling over it. Dick would probably say I'm just trying to put out a full bad-boy image. He's probably not wrong.

"Uh, I thought I'd try something new. You don't like it?" Bruce and Tim stare at me blankly, as Dames smirks a little.

"I think you look hot," Steph declares, grinning as Cass nods in agreement. Cass isn't much for words.

"I do, too, but did you warn Dick?" Babs asks, smiling slightly at Bruce and Tim's reactions. It's quite funny, actually. To be fair, this probably won't be good for my public image. But hey, since when have I cared about that? And, oh shit, I didn't warn Dick. I shake my head, nervously running my hand over my hair again. I really should have warned him.

"Jay? What're ya standing around fo- Oh my god." I spin around, seeing Dick in the doorway, eyes wide as he stares at me. I try for my usual confident smirk, but I have a suspicion it's severely lacking in confidence and looks more nervous.

"Um, yeah, what do you think?"

Dick's face remains carefully blank until he smiles, slow and full of sin. His eyes take on a dangerous glint, and oh god, he's got to stop looking at me like he's about to eat me. It does crazy things to me. He steps toward me, taking my chin to turn my head for a better look. Then he takes my hand.

"I think we have to go to our bedroom. Now," he replies, grin wide and saucy as he starts to drag me from the room.

"I'll see you guys later," Dick says dismissively over his shoulder at our family. I can't help but laugh at Tim's choking sound, Steph's cheery encouragements and Cass's quiet giggles. I take this to mean that Dick's fond of my haircut.

…

 _Katy's Note: Hey guys! I'll admit, I'm a bit of a fan of Jay's undercut in the current comics. My stories aren't really pre- or post-reboot, but will be more of a mixture of both. Sorry it's been a wee while since my last update, but I've been back at uni and have had a really busy past couple of weeks. Hopefully you won't have so long a wait for the next chapter. I have something big planned in a few chapters from this one, so look forward to that! In both parts of this chapter, they've been dating for eleven months. Thanks so much for your support and please review, even if it's just to tell me your favourite part of the chapter. I live for reviews, they absolutely make my day. See you guys next time!_

 _Katy._


	11. Get your broke ass out of here, Two-Face

**The Real Life Love**

 _Dick's P.O.V_

I know Jay has nightmares. We all do, but Jay's… Jay's seemed more. More pain, more terror, more _screaming_. They're not normal nightmares. And the saddest thing about it is that it's not just his imagination. For Jay, they're real, because they happened. He tries to hide it from me. Sometimes in the night I can hear him wake with gasp, then leave the bed, doing his best not to disturb me. I wish he'd talk to me. I understand that it must be hard to explain, but I thought if anyone, he'd confide in me.

Thankfully, over the months we've dated, his nightmares have been gradually getting less frequent. More often than not now, after dating for a year, he sleeps peacefully. But I knew that tonight wasn't going to be one of those nights.

It wasn't an easy patrol that night. In fact, it was terrifying. It was one of the few nights that we weren't patrolling together. Jay wasn't happy with me, was claiming that I was being too reckless over the commlink. Pot calling the kettle black, I know, but he wasn't listening to me. The shouting went on for a while. And then, silence. Out of nowhere. I'd been wishing for him to stop, but when the shouting did stop, all the silence did was scare me.

I was right to be scared. By the time we found him, Jason had been awake inside a dark cellar for thirty minutes. His panicked eyes when we got him out is something I'll never forget. He remained silent for the rest of the night, as I took him home and put him in bed.

We could all guess where his claustrophobia came from. Jay doesn't like talking about his death and resurrection, except for making dark jokes. The humour is a defence mechanism for him, when he doesn't want to lash out in anger. But I've managed to glean fragments about what actually happened from these jokes, even when they make me and the others wince. So we know that he remembers waking up in his coffin. Remembers digging his way out.

So yeah, it wasn't a surprise when I wake up to Jason's muffled screams. It sounds like he's choking, but there's nothing covering his mouth. I'm lying on my side, facing him with my arm wrapped over his waist as he lies on his back. Button wakes up, too, head lifting and tilting to the side as she lies by our feet. All of a sudden, Jay wakes, pitching forward into a sitting position with a strangled gasp. Button stands and carefully walks up between Jay's legs to lick at his face. Jay buries his fingers in her fur, head bending down, still gasping for air.

I sit up, noticing that Jay's eyes flick to me. Silently pulling him into a hug, my arms tight around him, I rub his back slowly. I half expect him to push me away. He doesn't. Instead, he clings to me tightly, head resting on my shoulder. Button, who's like me and will never pass up an opportunity for cuddles, wriggles her way across our laps.

"You're okay, love. I have you," I whisper into his ear, over and over again. Eventually, Jay calms, slipping back into sleep. Carefully, I lie down, Jay's head tucked under my chin. Sometimes, I do wish he'd talk to me more about what he experienced. But I know that I'm one of the few people (me, Alfred and occasionally Bruce) he'd ever let see him like this. And having him rest in my arms? Good enough for me.

The next morning, I'm woken with a gentle kiss. Smiling, I reach up to grip the back of his neck, tugging him closer to me. I can feel more than I can hear the low rumble of his chuckle.

"How are you feeling, baby?" I murmur against his lips. A risky question – he's likely to shut down – but I feel like I have to know. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away. His smile does fade a touch, but he doesn't look angry at me. Progress.

"I'm fine, Pidge. Sorry for scaring you."

"Oh, Jay, don't worry about me. I just need to know you're okay. Last night was hard for you, I get it. I just wish you'd talk to me, not stubbornly repress it like a certain someone." Jay sighs, shifting back a little and running his hand through his hair. A nervous tick of his.

But then something in his face changes, a sudden decision made. His face becomes determined, and his eyes meet mine. The look in them is hard, steely. He looks like a man staring down the barrel of a gun but refusing to be cowed. Then he tells me _everything._ About his death, his resurrection, his years of training. I already had a basic knowledge of what happened, but hell, I wasn't prepared for this. That's how we spend our morning, talking through the years we were separated. I feel like we're closer than ever. I love being the one he can talk to about anything. I love _him._ And this all makes me realise that he's the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with.

…

 _Jay's P.O.V_

Oh, this is fantastic. Probably the best fucking thing I've ever seen. I don't think I have enough words to describe how much I freaking love this. Grabbing my phone, I flick through my contacts until I find the number I'm looking for.

"Hey, Blondie bear, there's something you gotta see."

Steph and my friendship scares people sometimes. Which is fair enough, if I'm honest. We bonded over musicals and pranks. No one is safe from our team ups, except Alfred. She's the cool little sister that I've never had before, and I'll protect her to my last breath. Not that she really needs my protection, she's a badass in her own right. My other little sister, Cass, is a certified badass, too. But I will admit to scaring a few of the girls' dates away. Cass is always fondly exasperated with me when I do that. Steph thinks it's hilarious. _"Why would I want to date someone who's intimidated by a big softie like Jay?"_ She'd say, with a bright, trilling laugh.

At least once a week, I'll come home from my morning run with Button to find Steph in my kitchen, waiting for breakfast. She's trouble, that girl, but I love her. Both Alfred and I are guilty of sneaking into her apartment to leave decent food. She's a student, she needs all the heathy meals she can get. Sometimes I think she sneaks into Dick and my apartment to steal fruit. Apparently fruit is low priority with a student's budget.

It's our love of musicals that led me to Team Starkid, and from that, Holy Musical B man. Which is frankly, the best thing ever created, and Steph needed to see it immediately. So it didn't surprise me the next day, I walk into the manor and am greeted with a big Steph hug. Dick, beside me, instantly joins in, though he doesn't know what the hug's for. He just likes hugs.

"Jay, have I told you recently that I love you?"

"Only every day, Blondie. Wanna go torture Bruce?"

"Oh, dear sweet Jay. Why else would I be here?"

Thus lead to an addition to the glorious family tradition of messing with Bruce. If you haven't Holy Musical B man, you should. Really. Go do it now. It's hilarious. There are many, many inconsistencies with characters, but that's what makes it fantastic. Just imagining Bruce crying because he has no friends, priceless. And then having a song about it, oh, heaven.

It's a Saturday, so we both know were Bruce is. Quietly letting ourselves in to the Batcave, we start slow. I've got my guitar, softly plucking a few notes. Steph sings gently, so Bruce doesn't immediately growl at us, and tries to ignore us first.

"Poor master Bruce, poor Mister Wayne. Lonely caboose on a one car train.  
And it pains me to watch you amble along this track of loneliness I laid down for you.  
I remember that horrible night, the night you were split in two and I swore I'd protect you. And I haven't.  
So I built a wall all round you, but the wall was too tall and it blocked out all of the birds and the sun."

Steph's voice is loud now, echoing through the cave. Bruce is stiff in his chair, still trying his absolute best to pretend we're not there. But I can see that his fingers on the keys have slowed and are using far more force than actually necessary. It's all I can do not to laugh. Tim's here too, staring at us in shock, but covering his mouth with his hand. He's probably doing his best not to laugh, too, but I don't think he's actually seen the musical. It's Alfred that sings the song originally, but there's no way that we'd convince him to sing this to Bruce. No matter his love for theatre. He'd still enjoy watching the musical. We should watch it together.

"I tried to raise you right, I tried to raise you proper. I tried to be a mentor and a friend, and a mama and a papa, too.  
And insulate you from any outside source of fright. And make bloody certain you'll never see another dark, sad, lonely night."

Now it's my time to shine. We're right behind his chair now, and I can hear the quiet chuckles of Dick and Cass behind us. Steph's leaning over Bruce's shoulder, mischievous glint in her cornflower eyes. Bruce refuses to look at her.

"When I look at my life, I see that somethings not right. Like a 1000 percent," I belt out, still gently strumming my guitar.

"And I wonder what it is, how it is that it's always just me here crying alone at the end of the night, 10 000 percent."

And then he cracks. "Jason, Stephanie, enough! What's the meaning of this?" Steph and I stop, grinning at each other.

"You mean you don't know?" Steph plays at being shocked, hand coming to rest over her heart. "Bruce, I thought you were always so on top of culture."

"Alfred would be so disappointed with you, Bruce," I add, tutting disapprovingly. "He works so hard to make sure you stay current. Especially since you're the star of this musical!"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Ah well, since you asked so nicely," I say, typing on the Batcomputer to pull up the appropriate youtube playlist."

From there, we had an impromptu family movie night, down in the Batcave. Everyone was there, sitting on cushions on the floor, except for Bruce who stayed on the chair. Many, many laughs were had. Even Alfred chuckled at his own portrayal. Bruce was the only one not laughing, his face red and mortified. Which only made it better, I think. Dick was embarrassed, too, _"I can feel my transformation beginning!"_ But he took it with more grace, laughing about it with us. Bruce and Dick did have to endure many renditions of the Dynamic Duet, but it's not my fault that it's hilarious. We also took to calling Bruce Pterodactyl-Man for a while. And it's fair to say many fantastic quotes came out of it. It also made it hard to take Two-Face seriously ever again.

I don't think Bruce has forgiven me yet. But I also think he's secretly pleased we're bonding, even if it's at his expense. And I know he enjoyed To Be a Man, where he beat the shit out of Superman after having the shit beat out of him.

All in all, it was a good day.

…

 _Katy's note: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long! And sorry this chapter's a bit of a mess and nothing really happens, but hey, it's kind of fluffy? Bat-bonding, whoo! Hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the next one! And seriously, watch Holy Musical B man, it's so funny._

 _Katy._


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